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3  1822  01612  7573 


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CI  39  (1/91)                                                                 UCSDLib. 

THE    MAN   WHO   LAUGHS. 


Ursus  and  Homo. 
Photo-Etching.  —  From  Drawing  by  G.  Rochegrosse. 


Mnn  OTw  Cattails 


IN   TWO  VOLUMES 

VOL.  I. 


BY 

VICTOR    HU  G  O 


Centenary  etritton 


BOSTON     •     DANA     ESTES     tf 
COMPANY-     PUBLISHERS 


anije    (ttnttnavs   lEHition 

LIMITED     TO     ONE    THOUSAND 
COPIES      •      NUMBER.. .335. 


PREFACE. 


TN  England,  everything  is  great,  even  what  is  not  good, 
—  even  Oligarchy.  The  English  Patriciate  is  the 
patriciate  in  the  absolute  sense  of  the  word.  No  more 
illustrious,  more  terrible,  or  more  vigorous  feudality 
exists.  Let  us  add  that  this  feudality  has  been  useful 
at  times.  It  is  in  England  that  the  phenomenon  of 
Seigneurie  must  be  studied,  as  in  France  the  phenome- 
non of  Eoyalty  must  be  studied. 

The  true  title  of  this  book  should  be  "Aristocracy." 
Another  book  that  will  follow  may,  perhaps,  be  entitled 
"  Monarchy."  These  two  books,  if  it  is  given  to  the 
author  to  finish  his  task,  will  precede  and  introduce 
another,  to  be  called  "Ninety-Three." 

Hauteville  House,  1869. 


CONTENTS. 
Vol.  L 


PART  L  —  THE   SEA  AND   THE  NIGHT. 

L  — TWO  PRELIMINARY  CHAPTERS. 

Page 

I.    Ursus 1 

II.     The  Comprachicos 24 

BOOK  I.  —  Night  not  so  black  as  Man. 

Chapter 

I.     Portland  Bill .40 

II.    Left  Alone 47 

III.     Alone s     .  51 

IT.     Questions 57 

V.     The  Tree  of  Human  Invention .  60 

VI.     Struggle  between  Death  and  Night 66 

VII.     The  North  Point  of  Portland 73 

BOOK  II.  —  The  Hooker  at  Sea. 

I.    Superhuman  Laws 78 

II.    Our  first  Rough  Sketches  filled  in 82 

III.  Troubled  Men  on  the  Troubled  Sea 88 

IV.  A  Cloud  different  from  the  Others  enters  on  the 

Scene 93 

V.    Hardquanonne 103 

VI.     They  think  that  Help  is  at  Hand      •••«•■  106 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Chatter  Pagb 

VII.  Superhuman  Horrors 103 

VIIL  Nix  et  Nox 112 

IX,  The  Charge  confided  to  a  Raging  Sea    .     .     .     .  116 

X.  The  Colossal  Savage,  the  Storm 118 

XL  The  Caskets 123 

XII.  Face  to  Face  with  the  Bock 12t» 

XIII.  Face  to  Face  with  Night 130 

XIV.  Ortach 132 

XV.  Portentosum  Mare 134 

XVI.  The  Problem  suddenly  works  in  Silence      .     .     .  140 

XVII.  The  Last  Resource 143 

XVIII.  The  Highest  Resource 147 

BOOK  III.  —  The  Child  in  the  Shadow. 

I.  Chesil 155 

II.  The  Effect  of  Snow 161 

III.  A  Burden  makes  a  Rough  Road  rougher     .     .     .  166 

IV.  Another  Kind  of  Desert 171 

V.  Misanthropy  Plays  its  Pranks 176 

VI.  The  Awaking 192 


PART  II.  —  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  KING. 

BOOK   I.  —  The  Everlasting  Presence  of  the  Past- 
Man  REFLECTS  MAN. 

I.     Lord  Clancharlie 196 

II.     Lord  David  Dirry-Moir 210 

III.  The  Duchess  Josiana 218 

IV.  The  Leader  of  Fashion 229 

V.     Queen  Anne 233 

VI.     Barkilphedro 247 

VII.     Barkilphedro  gnaws  his  Way 254 

VIII.     Inferi 260 


CONTENTS.  Vii 
Chapter                                                                                                Pagb 

IX.     Hate  is  as  Strong  as  Love 263 

X.    The  Flame  which  would   be  seen  if   Man   were 

transparent 271 

XI.     Barkilphedro  in  Ambuscade 280 

XII.     Scotland,  Ireland,  and  England 285 

BOOK    II.  —  GWYNPLAINE    AND    DBA. 

I.     Wherein  we  see  the  Face  of  him  of  whom  we  have 

hitherto  seen  only  the  Acts 295 

II.    Dea 301 

III.  "  Oculos  NON  habet,  et  videt  " 304 

IV.  Well-matched  Lovers 307 

V.     The  Blue  Sky  thr  ugh  the  Black  Cloud     .     .     .  311 

VI.     Ursus  as  Tutor,  and  Ursus  as  Guardian     .     .     .  315 

VII.     Blindness  gives  Lessons  in  Clairvoyance      .     .     .  320 

VIII.     Not  only  Happiness,  but  Prosper^y 324 

IX.     Absurdities   which     Folks    without    Taste    call 

Poetry 330 

X.     An  Outsider's  View  of  Men  and  Things      .     .     .  337 

XL       Q-WYNPLAINE  THINKS  JUSTICE,  AND  URSUS  SPEAKS  TRUTH  343 

XII.     Ursus  the  Pobt  drags  on  Ursus  the  Philosopher  353 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

VOL.  I. 

Ursus  and  Homo Frontispiece 

The  Storm 55 

The  Child  at  the  Gallows 71 

"Let  us  throw  our  crimes  into  the  sea" 147 

Lord  David  Dirry-Moir 216 

Amusements  of  the  Mohawk  Club 233 

Dea '.    .  301 


THE   MAN  WHO   LAUGHS. 


PART    I. 

THE  SEA  AND   THE  NIGHT. 


I 

TWO   PRELIMINARY  CHAPTERS. 

URSUS. 

I. 

URSUS  and  Homo  were  fast  friends.  Ursus  was  a 
man,  Homo  a  wolf.  Their  dispositions  corres- 
ponded. It  was  the  man  who  had  christened  the  wolf : 
probably  he  had  also  chosen  his  own  name.  Having 
found  "  Ursus  "  fit  for  himself,  he  had  found  "  Homo  " 
fit  for  the  beast.  Man  and  wolf  turned  their  partner- 
ship to  account  at  fairs,  at  village  fetes,  at  the  corners 
of  streets  where  passers-by  throng,  and  out  of  the  desire 
which  people  seem  to  feel  to  listen  to  idle  nonsense,  and 
to  buy  quack  medicine.  The  wolf,  gentle  and  courte- 
ously subordinate,  diverted  the  crowd.  It  is  a  pleasant 
thing  to  behold  the  tameness  of  animals.  Our  greatest 
delight  is  to  see  all  the  varieties  capable  of  domestica- 
tion parade  before  us.  It  is  this  feeling  that  brings  so 
many  people  out  to  view  a  royal  cortSge. 

VOL.   XIX.  —  1  .  _ 


2  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Ursus  and  Homo  went  about  from  cross-road  to  cross- 
road, from  the  High  Street  of  Aberystwith  to  the  High 
Street  of  Jedburgh,  from  country-side  to  country-side, 
from  shire  to  shire,  from  town  to  town.  One  market 
exhausted,  they  went  on  to  another.  Ursus  lived  in  a 
small  van  upon  wheels,  which  Homo  was  civilized, 
enough  to  draw  by  day  and  guard  by  night.  On  bad 
roads,  up  hills,  and  where  there  were  too  many  ruts,  or 
there  was  too  much  mud,  the  man  buckled  the  trace 
round  his  neck  and  pulled  fraternally,  side  by  side,  with 
the  wolf.  They  had  thus  grown  old  together.  They 
encamped  at  hap-hazard  on  a  common,  in  the  glade  of  a 
wood,  on  the  waste  patch  of  grass  where  roads  intersect, 
at  the  outskirts  of  villages,  at  the  gates  of  towns,  in 
market-places,  in  public  walks,  on  the  borders  of  parks, 
or  before  the  entrances  of  churches.  When  the  cart 
drew  up  on  a  fair  ground,  where  the  gossips  ran  up 
open-mouthed  and  the  curious  formed  a  circle  round  the 
pair,  Ursus  harangued  and  Homo  approved.  Then  Homo, 
with  a  bowl  in  his  mouth,  politely  made  a  collection 
among  the  audience.  Thus  they  earned  their  livelihood. 
The  wolf  was  lettered,  likewise  the  man.  The  wolf  had 
been,  trained  by  the  man,  or  had  trained  himself  unas- 
sisted, to  divers  wolfish  tricks,  which  swelled  the  re- 
ceipts. "  Above  all  things,  do  not  degenerate  into  a 
man,"  his  friend  would  say  to  him. 

The  wolf  never  bit :  the  man  did,  now  and  then.  At 
least,  that  was  his  intention.  He  was  a  misanthrope, 
and  to  increase  his  misanthropy  he  had  made  himself  a 
juggler :  to  live,  also ;  for  the  stomach  has  to  be  con- 
sulted. Moreover,  this  juggler-misanthrope,  whether 
to  add  to  the  complexity  of  his  being  or  to  perfect  it, 
was  a  doctor.  To  be  a  doctor  is  nothing :  Ursus  was 
also  a  ventriloquist.  You  could  hear  him  speak  with- 
out his   moving  his  lips.     He  counterfeited,  so  as  to 


URSUS.  3 

deceive  you,  any  one's  accent  or  pronunciation.  He 
imitated  voices  so  exactly  that  you  believed  you  heard 
the  people  themselves.  All  alone  he  could  simulate 
the  murmur  of  a  crowd ;  and  this  gave  him  a  right  to  the 
title  of  Engastrimythos,  which  he  took.  He  reproduced 
the  notes  of  all  kinds  of  birds,  —  as  of  the  thrush,  the 
wren,  the  pipit  lark,  otherwise  called  the  grey  cheeper, 
and  the  ring  ousel,  —  all  travellers  like  himself ;  so  that 
at  times,  when  the  fancy  struck  him,  he  made  you  aware 
either  of  a  public  thoroughfare  filled  with  the  uproar  of 
men,  or  of  a  meadow  loud  with  the  voices  of  beasts,  — 
at  one  time  stormy  as  a  multitude,  at  another  fresh  and 
serene  as  the  dawn.  Such  gifts,  although  rare,  exist. 
In  the  last  century  a  man  called  Touzel,  who  imitated 
the  mingled  utterances  of  men  and  animals,  and  who 
counterfeited  all  the  cries  of  wild  beasts,  was  attached 
to  the  person  of  Buffon,  —  to  serve  as  a  menagerie. 

Ursus  was  sagacious,  contradictory,  odd,  and  inclined 
to  the  singular  expositions  which  we  call  fables.  He 
even  pretended  to  believe  in  them ;  and  this  impudence 
was  a  part  of  his  humour.  He  read  people's  hands; 
opened  books  at  random  and  drew  conclusions ;  told  for- 
tunes ;  taught  that  it  is  dangerous  to  meet  a  black  mare, 
and  still  more  dangerous,  as  you  start  on  a  journey,  to 
hear  yourself  accosted  by  one  who  does  not  know 
whither  you  are  going.  He  called  himself  a  dealer  in 
superstitions.  He  used  to  say  :  "  There  is  one  difference 
between  me  and  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury :  I  avow 
what  I  am.  "  Hence  it  was  that  the  archbishop,  justly 
indignant,  summoned  him  before  him  one  day ;  but 
Ursus  cleverly  disarmed  his  Grace  by  reciting  a  sermon 
he  had  composed  upon  Christmas-day,  which  the  de- 
lighted archbishop  learned  by  heart,  and  delivered  from 
the  pulpit  as  his  own.  In  consideration  thereof,  the 
archbishop  pardoned  Ursus. 


4  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGH& 

As  a  doctor,  Ursus  wrought  cures  by  varied  means. 
He  made  use  of  aromatics;  he  was  versed  in  simples; 
he  made  the  most  of  the  immense  power  which  lies  in 
a  heap  of  neglected  plants,  such  as  the  hazel,  the  cat- 
kin, the  white  alder,  the  white  briony,  the  mealy-tree, 
the  traveller's  joy,  the  buckthorn.  He  treated  phthisis 
with  the  sun-dew ;  at  opportune  moments  he  would  use 
the  leaves  of  the  spurge,  which  plucked  at  the  bottom 
are  a  purgative,  and  plucked  at  the  top  an  emetic.  He 
cured  sore  throat  by  means  of  the  vegetable  excrescence 
called  "  Jews'  ear.  "  He  knew  the  rush  which  cures  the 
ox,  and  the  mint  which  cures  the  horse.  He  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  beauties  and  virtues  of  the  herb 
tnandragora,  which,  as  every  one  knows,  is  of  both 
sexes.  He  had  many  recipes.  He  cured  burns  with 
salamander  wool,  —  of  which,  according  to  Pliny,  Nero 
had  a  napkin.  Ursus  possessed  a  retort  and  a  flask ;  he 
effected  transmutations  ;  he  sold  panaceas.  It  was  said 
that  he  had  once  been  for  a  short  time  in  Bedlam ;  they 
had  done  him  the  honour  to  take  him  for  a  madman,  but 
had  set  him  free  on  discovering  that  he  was  only  a  poet. 
This  story  was  probably  not  true ;  we  all  have  to  submit 
to  some  such  absurd  reports  about  ourselves. 

The  fact  is,  Ursus  was  a  bit  of  a  savant,  a  man  of 
taste,  and  an  old  Latin  poet.  He  was  skilled  in  two 
forms  of  verse, — he  Hippocratized  and  he  Pindarized. 
He  could  have  vied  in  bombast  with  Eapin  and  Vida. 
He  could  have  composed  Jesuit  tragedies  in  a  style  no 
less  successful  than  that  of  Father  Bouhours.  It  fol- 
lowed from  his  familiarity  with  the  venerable  rhythms 
and  metres  of  the  ancients  that  he  had  peculiar  figures 
of  speech,  and  a  whole  family  of  classical  metaphors  at 
his  command.  He  would  say  of  a  mother  followed  by 
her  two  daughters,  "There  is  a  dactyl;"  of  a  father 
preceded  by  his  two  sons,  "  There  is  an  anapaest ; "  and 


URSUS.  5 

of  a  little  child  walking  between  its  grandmother  and 
grandfather,  "  There  is  an  amphimacer. "  So  much 
knowledge  could  only  end  in  starvation.  The  school  of 
Salerno  says,  "  Eat  little  and  often. "  Ursus  ate  little 
and  seldom,  thus  obeying  one  half  the  precept  and  dis- 
obeying the  other ;  but  this  was  the  fault  of  the  public, 
who  did  not  always  flock  to  hear  him,  and  who  did  not 
often  buy. 

Ursus  was  wont  to  say :  "  The  expectoration  of  a  sen- 
tence is  a  relief.  The  wolf  is  comforted  by  its  howl,  the 
sheep  by  its  wool,  the  forest  by  its  finch,  woman  by  her 
love,  and  the  philosopher  by  his  epiphomena.  "  Ursus  at 
a  pinch  composed  comedies,  which  he  all  but  acted  in 
recital;  this  helped  to  sell  the  drugs.  Among  other 
works,  he  composed  an  heroic  pastoral  in  honour  of  Sir 
Hugh  Middleton,  who  in  1608  brought  a  river  to  Lon~ 
don.  The  river  was  lying  peacefully  in  Hertfordshire, 
twenty  miles  from  London :  the  knight  came  and  took 
possession  of  it.  He  brought  a  brigade  of  six  hundred 
men,  armed  with  shovels  and  pickaxes ;  set  to  breaking 
up  the  ground,  scooping  it  out  in  one  place,  raising  it 
in  another,  —  now  thirty  feet  high,  now  twenty  feet 
deep ;  made  wooden  aqueducts  high  in  air ;  and  at  differ- 
ent points  constructed  eight  hundred  bridges  of  stone, 
bricks,  and  timber.  One  fine  morning  the  river  entered 
London,  which  was  short  of  water.  Ursus  transformed 
all  these  vulgar  details  into  a  fine  Eclogue  between  the 
Thames  and  the  New  Eiver,  in  which  the  former  in- 
vited the  latter  to  come  to  him,  saying,  "  I  am  too  old  to 
please  women,  but  I  am  rich  enough  to  pay  them, "  — 
an  ingenious  and  gallant  conceit  to  indicate  how  Sir 
Hugh  Middleton  had  completed  the  work  at  his  own 
expense. 

Ursus  was  great  in  soliloquy.  Of  a  disposition  at 
ence  unsociable  and  talkative,  desiring  to  see  no  one, 


6  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

yet  longing  to  converse  with  some  one,  he  solved  the 
difficulty  by  talking  to  himself.  Any  one  who  kas  lived 
a  solitary  life  knows  how  deeply  seated  monologue  is  in 
one's  nature.  Speech  imprisoned  longs  to  find  a  vent 
To  harangue  space  is  an  outlet.  To  talk  out  loud  when 
one  is  alone  is  as  it  were  to  have  a  dialogue  with  the 
divinity  within.  It  was,  as  is  well  known,  a  habit 
with  Socrates ;  he  declaimed  to  himself.  Luther  did 
the  same.  Ursus  took  after  those  great  men.  He  had 
the  hermaphrodite  faculty  of  being  his  own  audience. 
He  questioned  himself,  answered  himself,  praised  him- 
self, blamed  himself.  You  heard  him  in  the  street 
soliloquizing  in  his  van.  The  passers-by,  who  have 
their  own  way  of  appreciating  clever  people,  used  to 
say,  "  He  is  an  idiot. "  As  we  have  just  observed,  he 
abused  himself  at  times ;  but  there  were  times  also 
when  he  did  himself  justice.  One  day,  in  one  of  these 
allocutions  addressed  to  himself,  he  was  heard  to  cry 
out :  "  I  have  studied  vegetation  in  all  its  mysteries,  — 
in  the  stalk,  in  the  bud,  in  the  sepal,  in  the  stamen,  in 
the  carpel,  in  the  ovule,  in  the  spore,  in  the  theca,  and 
in  the  apothecium.  I  have  thoroughly  sifted  chroma- 
tics, osmosis,  and  chymosis  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  formation 
of  colours,  of  smell,  and  of  taste. "  There  was  some- 
thing fatuous,  doubtless,  in  this  certificate  which  Ursus 
gave  to  Ursus ;  but  let  those  who  have  thoroughly  sifted 
chromatics,  osmosis,  and  chymosis  cast  the  first  stone  at 
him. 

Fortunately,  Ursus  had  never  gone  into  the  Low 
Countries ;  there  they  would  certainly  have  weighed 
him,  to  ascertain  whether  he  was  of  the  normal  weight, 
above  or  below  which  a  man  is  a  sorcerer.  In  Holland 
this  weight  was  sagely  fixed  by  law.  Nothing  was  sim- 
pler or  more  ingenious.  It  was  a  clear  test.  They  put 
you  in  a  scale,  and  the  evidence  was  conclusive.     Too 


URSUS.  7 

heavy,  you  were  hanged;  too  light,  you  were  burned. 
To  this  day  the  scales  in  which  sorcerers  were  weighed 
may  be  seen  at  Oudewater ;  but  they  are  now  used  for 
weighing  cheeses.  How  religion  has  degenerated !  Ursus 
would  certainly  have  had  a  crow  to  pluck  with  those 
scales.  In  his  travels  he  kept  away  from  Holland,  and 
he  was  wise.  Indeed,  we  believe  that  he  never  roved 
beyond  the  limits  of  Great  Britain. 

However  this  may  have  been,  he  was  very  poor  and 
morose ;  and  having  made  the  acquaintance  of  Homo  in 
a  wood,  a  taste  for  a  wandering  life  came  over  him.  So 
he  took  the  wolf  into  partnership,  and  with  him  went 
forth  on  the  highways,  living  in  the  open  air  the  great 
life  of  chance.  He  had  a  great  deal  of  industry  and 
caution,  and  great  skill  in  everything  connected  with 
healing  operations,  restoring  the  sick  to  health,  and 
working  wonders  peculiar  to  himself.  He  was  consid- 
ered a  clever  mountebank  and  a  good  doctor.  As  may 
be  imagined,  he  passed  for  a  wizard  as  well :  not  much 
indeed, —  only  a  little;  for  it  was  unwholesome  in  those 
days  to  be  considered  a  friend  of  the  devil.  To  tell  tne 
truth,  Ursus,  by  his  passion  for  pharmacy  and  his  love 
of  plants,  laid  himself  open  to  suspicion,  seeing  that  he 
often  went  to  gather  herbs  in  rough  thickets  where  Luci- 
fer's salads  grew,  and  where,  as  has  been  proved  by  the 
Counsellor  De  l'Ancre,  there  is  a  risk  of  meeting  in  the 
evening  mist  a  man  who  comes  out  of  the  earth,  "  blind  in 
the  right  eye,  bare-footed,  without  a  cloak,  and  with  a 
sword  by  his  side.  "  But  for  the  matter  of  that,  Ursus, 
although  eccentric  in  manner  and  disposition,  was  too 
good  a  fellow  to  invoke  or  disperse  hail,  to  make  faces 
appear,  to  kill  a  man  with  the  torment  of  excessive  dan- 
cing, to  suggest  dreams  fair  or  foul  and  full  of  terror, 
and  to  cause  the  birth  of  cocks  with  four  wings.  He 
had  no  such  mischievous  tricks.     He  was  incapable  of 


8  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

certain  abominations,  —  such  for  instance  as  speaking 
German,  Hebrew,  or  Greek,  without  having  learned 
them,  which  is  a  sign  of  unpardonable  wickedness,  or 
of  a  natural  infirmity  proceeding  from  a  morbid  humour. 
If  Ursus  spoke  Latin,  it  was  because  he  knew  it.  He 
would  never  have  allowed  himself  to  speak  Syriac, 
which  he  did  not  know.  Besides,  it  is  asserted  that 
Syriac  is  the  language  spoken  in  the  midnight  meetings 
at  which  uncanny  people  worship  the  devil.  In  medi- 
cine, he  justly  preferred  Galen  to  Cardan,  — Cardan,  al- 
though a  learned  man,  being  but  an  earthworm  in  com- 
parison with  Galen. 

To  sum  up,  Ursus  was  not  one  of  those  persons  who 
live  in  fear  of  the  police.  His  van  was  long  enough  and 
wide  enough  to  allow  of  his  lying  down  in  it  on  a  box 
containing  his  not  very  sumptuous  apparel.  He  owned 
a  lantern,  several  wigs,  and  some  utensils  suspended 
from  nails,  among  which  were  musical  instruments.  He 
possessed,  besides,  a  bearskin  with  which  he  covered 
himself  on  his  days  of  grand  performance.  He  called 
this  putting  on  full  dress.  He  used  to  say,  "  I  have  two 
skins :  this  is  the  real  one, "  pointing  to  the  bearskin. 

The  little  house  on  wheels  belonged  to  himself  and  to 
the  wolf.  Besides  his  house,  his  retort,  and  his  wolf, 
he  owned  a  flute  and  a  violoncello  on  which  he  played 
prettily.  He  concocted  his  own  elixirs.  His  wits  yielded 
him  enough  to  sup  on  sometimes.  In  the  top  of  his  van 
was  a  hole,  through  which  the  pipe  of  a  cast-iron  stove 
passed  so  close  to  his  box  as  to  scorch  the  wood  of  it. 
The  stove  had  two  compartments :  in  one  of  them  Ursus 
cooked  his  chemicals,  and  in  the  other  his  potatoes.  At 
night  the  wolf  slept  under  the  van,  amicably  secured  by 
a  chain.  Homo's  hair  was  black,  that  of  Ursus  grey. 
Ursus  was  fifty, —  unless,  indeed,  he  was  sixty.  He  ac- 
cepted his  destiny  to  such  an  extent  that,  as  we  have 


URSUS.  9 

just  seen,  he  ate  potatoes,  —  the  trash  on  which  at  that 
time  pigs  and  convicts  were  fed.  He  ate  them  sadly, 
but  resignedly.  He  was  not  tall,  —  he  was  long.  He 
was  bent  and  melancholy.  The  bowed  frame  of  an  old 
man  is  the  settlement  in  the  architecture  of  life.  Na- 
ture had  formed  him  for  sadness.  He  found  it  difficult 
to  smile,  and  he  had  never  been  able  to  weep ;  so  that 
he  was  deprived  of  the  consolation  of  tears,  as  well  as  of 
the  palliative  of  joy.  An  old  man  is  a  thinking  ruin ; 
and  such  a  ruin  was  Ursus.  He  had  the  loquacity  of  a 
charlatan,  the  leanness  of  a  prophet,  the  irascibility  of 
a  charged  mine ;  such  was  Ursus.  In  his  youth  he  had 
been  a  philosopher  in  the  house  of  a  lord. 

This  was  a  hundred  and  eighty  years  ago,  when  men 
were  more  like  wolves  than  they  are  now.  Not  so  very 
much  though. 

II. 

Homo  was  no  ordinary  wolf.  From  his  appetite  for 
medlars  and  potatoes  he  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
prairie  wolf ;  from  his  dark  hide,  for  a  lycaon ;  and  from 
his  bark  prolonged  into  a  howl,  for  a  Chilian  dog.  But 
no  one  has  as  yet  examined  the  eyeball  of  a  Chilian  dog 
sufficiently  to  determine  whether  he  be  not  a  fox ;  and 
Homo  was  a  real  wolf.  He  was  five  feet  long,  which  is 
a  fine  length  for  a  wolf,  even  in  Lithuania ;  he  was  very 
strong;  he  looked  at  you  askance,  which  was  not  his 
fault ;  he  had  a  soft  tongue,  with  which  he  occasionally 
licked  Ursus ;  he  had  a  narrow  brush  of  short  bristles 
on  his  backbone,  and  he  was  lean  with  the  wholesome 
leanness  of  a  forest  life.  Before  he  Knew  Ursus  and  had 
a  carriage  to  draw,  he  thought  nothing  of  doing  his  fifty 
miles  a  night.  Ursus  meeting  him  in  a  thicket  near  a 
stream  of  running  water  had  conceived  a  high  opinion 


10  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

of  him  from  seeing  the  skill  and  sagacity  with  which  he 
fished  out  crawfish,  and  welcomed  him  as  an  honest  and 
genuine  Koupara  wolf  of  the  kind  called  crab-eater. 

As  a  beast  of  burden,  Ursus  preferred  Homo  to  a  don- 
key. He  would  have  felt  a  repugnance  to  having  his 
hut  drawn  by  an  ass ;  he  thought  too  highly  of  the  ass 
for  that.  Moreover,  he  had  observed  that  the  ass,  a 
four-legged  thinker  little  understood  by  men,  has  a  habit 
of  cocking  his  ears  uneasily  when  philosophers  talk 
nonsense.  In  life  the  ass  counts  as  a  third  person  be- 
tween our  thoughts  and  ourselves,  and  acts  as  a  restraint. 
As  a  friend,  Ursus  preferred  Homo  to  a  dog,  considering 
that  the  love  of  a  wolf  is  more  rare. 

Hence  it  was  that  Homo  sufficed  for  Ursus.  Homo 
was  for  Ursus  more  than  a  companion,  he  was  an  ana- 
logue. Ursus  used  to  pat  the  wolf's  empty  ribs,  and 
say,  u  I  have  found  the  second  volume  of  myself ! " 
Again  he  said,  "  When  I  am  dead,  any  one  wishing  to 
know  me  need  only  study  Homo.  I  shall  leave  him  as 
a  true  copy  behind  me.  " 

The  English  law,  which  is  not  very  lenient  to  beasts 
of  the  forest,  might  have  picked  a  quarrel  with  the  wolf, 
and  punished  him  for  his  assurance  in  going  freely  about 
the  towns ;  but  Homo  took  advantage  of  the  immunity 
granted  by  a  statute  of  Edward  IV.  to  servants :  "  Every 
servant  in  attendance  on  his  master  is  free  to  come  and 
go. "  Besides,  a  certain  relaxation  of  the  law  had  re- 
sulted with  regard  to  wolves,  in  consequence  of  its  being 
the  fashion  of  the  ladies  of  the  Court  under  the  later 
Stuarts  to  have,  instead  of  dogs,  little  wolves,  called 
■  adives, "  about  the  size  of  cats,  which  were  brought 
from  Asia  at  great  cost. 

Ursus  had  taught  Homo  a  portion  of  his  accomplish- 
ments, —  such  as  to  stand  upright,  to  restrain  his  rage 
into  sulkiness,  to  growl  instead  of  howl,  etc.  ;  and  on 


DRSUS.  11 

his  part,  the  wolf  had  taught  the  man  what  he  knew, 

—  to  do  without  a  roof,  without  bread  and  fire,  —  and 
to  prefer  hunger  in  the  woods  to  slavery  in  a  palace. 

This  van,  which  served  both  as  a  dwelling  and  a 
vehicle,  and  which  had  travelled  so  many  different  roads 
without  ever  leaving  Great  Britain,  had  four  wheels, 
with  shafts  for  the  wolf  and  a  cross-bar  for  the  man, 
The  cross-bar  came  into  use  when  the  roads  were  bad. 
The  van  was  strong,  although  it  was  built  of  light 
boards  like  a  dove-cote.  In  front  there  was  a  glass  door 
with  a  little  balcony  used  for  orations,  which  had  some- 
thing of  the  character  of  the  platform  tempered  by  the 
air  of  a  pulpit.  At  the  back  there  was  a  panelled  door. 
By  lowering  three  steps,  which  turned  on  a  hinge  below 
the  door,  access  was  gained  to  the  hut,  which  at  night 
was  securely  fastened  with  bolt  and  lock.  Eain  and 
snow  had  fallen  plentifully  on  it ;  it  had  been  painted, 
but  in  what  colour  it  was  difficult  to  say,  changes  of  sea- 
son being  to  vans  what  changes  of  reign  are  to  courtiers. 
In  front,  outside,  was  a  board,  —  a  kind  of  frontispiece, 

—  on  which  the  following  inscription  might  once  have 
been  deciphered;  it  was  in  black  letters  on  a  white 
ground,  but  by  degrees  the  characters  had  become  con- 
fused and  blurred:  — 

"By  friction,  gold  loses  every  year  a  fourteen  hundredth 
part  of  its  bulk.  This  is  what  is  called  the  Wear.  Hence 
it  follows  that  on  fourteen  hundred  millions  of  gold  in  circu- 
lation throughout  the  world,  one  million  is  lost  annually. 
This  million  dissolves  into  dust,  flies  away,  floats  about,  is 
reduced  to  atoms,  drugs,  weighs  down  consciences,  amalga- 
mates with  the  souls  of  the  rich  whom  it  renders  proud,  and 
with  those  of  the  poor  whom  it  renders  brutish." 

The  inscription,  rubbed  and  blotted  by  the  rain  and 
by  the  kindness  of  Nature,  was  fortunately  illegible,  for 


12  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

it  is  possible  that  the  philosophical  remarks  concerning 
the  circulation  of  gold  might  not  have  been  to  the  taste 
of  the  sheriffs,  the  provost-marshals,  and  other  big-wigs 
of  the  law.  English  legislation  did  not  trifle  in  those 
days.  It  did  not  take  much  to  make  a  man  a  felon. 
The  magistrates  were  ferocious  by  tradition,  and  cruelty 
was  a  matter  of  routine.  The  judges  of  assize  increased 
and  multiplied.  Jefferies  had  become  a  breeder  of 
whelps. 

III. 

In  the  interior  of  the  van  there  were  two  other  in- 
scriptions. Above  the  locker,  on  a  whitewashed  plank, 
a  hand  had  written  in  ink  as  follows :  — 

The  Only  Things  Necessary  to  Know. 

The  baron,  peer  of  England,  wears  a  cap  with  six  pearls. 
The  coronet  begins  with  the  rank  of  viscount.  The  viscount 
wears  a  coronet  of  which  the  pearls  are  without  number. 
The  earl,  a  coronet  with  the  pearls  upon  points,  mingled 
with  strawberry  leaves  placed  low  between.  The  marquis, 
one  with  pearls  and  leaves  on  the  same  level.  The  duke, 
one  with  strawberry  leaves  alone, —  no  pearls.  The  royal 
duke,  a  circlet  of  crosses  and  fleurs-de-lis.  The  Prince  of 
Wales,  crown  like  that  of  the  king,  but  unclosed. 

The  duke  is  " most  high  and  most  puissant  prince,"  the 
marquis  and  earl  "most  noble  and  puissant  lord,"  the  vis- 
count "noble  and  puissant  lord,"  the  baron  "trusty  lord." 
The  duke  is  "his  Grace  ;  "  the  other  Peers  their  "Lordships." 
"Most  honourable"  is  higher  than  "right  honourable." 

Lords  who  are  peers  are  lords  in  their  own  right.  Lords 
who  are  not  peers  are  lords  by  courtesy :  —  there  are  no  real 
lords,  excepting  such  as  are  peers. 

The  House  of  Lords  is  a  chamber  and  a  court,  Concilium 
et  Curia,  legislature  and  court  of  justice.     The  Commons, 


URSUS.  13 

who  are  the  people,  when  ordered  to  the  bar  of  the  Lords, 
humbly  present  themselves  bareheaded  before  the  peers,  who 
remain  covered.  The  Commons  send  up  their  bills  by  forty 
members,  who  present  the  bill  with  three  low  bows.  The 
Lords  send  their  bills  to  the  Commons  by  a  mere  clerk.  In 
case  of  disagreement,  the  two  Houses  confer  in  the  Painted 
Chamber,  the  Peers  seated  and  covered,  the  Commons  stand- 
ing and  bareheaded. 

Peers  go  to  Parliament  in  their  coaches  in  file;  the  Com- 
mons do  not.  Some  peers  go  to  Westminster  in  open  four- 
wheeled  chariots.  The  use  of  these  and  of  coaches  embla- 
zoned with  coats-of-arms  and  coronets  is  allowed  only  to 
Peers,  and  forms  a  portion  of  their  dignity. 

Barons  have  the  same  rank  as  bishops.  To  be  a  baron 
peer  of  England,  it  is  necessary  to  be  in  possession  of  a 
tenure  from  the  king  per  Baroniam  integram,  by  full  barony. 
The  full  barony  consists  of  thirteen  knights'  fees  and  one 
third  part,  each  knight's  fee  being  of  the  value  of  twenty 
pounds  sterling,  which  makes  in  all  four  hundred  marks. 
The  head  of  a  barony  (caput  baronice)  is  a  castle  disposed 
by  inheritance,  as  England  herself, —  that  is  to  say,  descend- 
ing to  daughters  if  there  be  no  sons,  and  in  that  case  going 
to  the  eldest  daughter,  cceteris  filiabus  aliunde  satisfactis.1 

Barons  have  the  degree  of  lord, —  in  Saxon,  laford;  dom- 
inus  in  high  Latin;  Lordus  in  low  Latin.  The  eldest  and 
younger  sons  of  viscounts  and  barons  are  the  first  esquires  in 
the  kingdom.  The  eldest  sons  of  peers  take  precedence  of 
knights  of  the  garter.  The  younger  sons  do  not.  The 
eldest  son  of  a  viscount  comes  after  all  barons,  and  precedes 
all  baronets.  Every  daughter  of  a  peer  is  a  "Lady."  Other 
English  girls  are  plain  "Mistress." 

All  judges  rank  below  peers.  The  sergeant  wears  a  lamb- 
skin tippet;  the  judge  one  of  vair,  de  minuto  vario,  made  up 
of  a  variety  of  little  white  furs,  always  excepting  ermine. 
Ermine  is  reserved  for  peers  and  the  king. 

1  As  much  as  to  say,  the  other  daughters  are  provided  for  as  beat  may 
be.    (Note  by  Ursus  on  the  margin  of  the  wall.) 


14  THE  MAN   WHO  LAUGHS. 

A  lord  never  takes  an  oath,  either  to  the  crown  or  the  law 
His  word  suffices;  he  says,  "  Upon  my  honour." 

By  a  law  of  Edward  the  Sixth,  peers  have  the  privilege  of 
committing  manslaughter.  A  peer  who  kills  a  man  without 
premeditation  is  not  prosecuted. 

The  persons  of  peers  are  inviolable.  A  peer  cannot  he 
held  in  durance,  save  in  the  Tower  of  London.  A  writ  of 
supplicavit  cannot  be  granted  against  a  peer.  A  peer  sent 
for  by  the  king  has  the  right  to  kill  one  or  two  deer  in  the 
royal  park.  A  peer  holds  in  his  castle  a  baron's  court  of 
justice.  It  is  unworthy  of  a  peer  to  walk  the  street  in  a 
cloak,  followed  by  two  footmen;  he  should  only  show  him- 
self attended  by  a  great  train  of  gentlemen  of  his  household. 
A  peer  can  be  amerced  only  by  his  peers,  and  never  to  any 
greater  amount  than  five  pounds,  excepting  in  the  case  of  a 
duke,  who  can  be  amerced  ten.  A  peer  may  retain  six  aliens 
born,  any  other  Englishman  but  four.  A  peer  can  have 
wine  custom-free;  an  earl  eight  tuns.  A  peer  is  alone 
exempt  from  presenting  himself  before  the  sheriff  of  the 
circuit.  A  peer  cannot  be  assessed  towards  the  militia. 
When  it  pleases  a  peer  he  raises  a  regiment  and  gives  it  to 
the  king;  thus  have  done  their  graces  the  Dukes  of  Athol, 
Hamilton,  and  Northumberland.  A  peer  can  hold  only  of 
a  peer;  in  a  civil  cause  he  can  demand  the  adjournment  of 
the  case,  if  there  be  not  at  least  one  knight  on  the  jury.  A 
peer  nominates  his  own  chaplains;  a  baron  appoints  three 
chaplains,  a  viscount  four,  an  earl  and  a  marquis  five,  a  duke 
six.  A  peer  cannot  be  put  to  the  rack,  even  for  high  treason. 
A  peer  cannot  be  branded  on  the  hand.  A  peer  is  a  clerk, 
though  he  knows  not  how  to  read;  in  law  he  knows. 

A  duke  has  a  right  to  a  canopy,  or  cloth  of  state,  in  all 
places  where  the  king  is  not  present;  a  viscount  may  have 
one  in  his  house ;  a  baron  has  a  cover  of  assay,  which  may  be 
held  under  his  cup  while  he  drinks.  A  baroness  has  the 
right  to  have  her  train  borne  by  a  man  in  the  presence  of  a 
viscountess. 

Eighty-six  tables,  with  five  hundred  dishes,  are  served 
every  day  in  the  royal  palace  at  each  meal. 


URSUS.  15 

If  a  plebeian  strike  a  lord,  his  hand  is  cut  off. 
A  lord  is  very  nearly  a  king;  the  king  is  very  nearly  a 
god. 

The  earth  is  a  lordship. 

The  English  address  God  as  "my  lord!  " 

Opposite  this  writing  was  written  a  second  one,  in  the 
same  fashion,  which  ran  thus  :  — 

Satisfaction  which  must  Suffice  those  who 
have  Nothing. 

Henry  Auverquerque,  Earl  of  Grantham,  who  sits  in  the 
House  of  Lords  between  the  Earl  of  Jersey  and  the  Earl  of 
Greenwich,  has  a  hundred  thousand  a  year.  To  his  lordship 
belongs  the  palace  of  Grantham  Terrace,  built  all  of  marble 
and  famous  for  what  is  called  the  labyrinth  of  passages, —  a 
curiosity  which  contains  the  scarlet  corridor  in  marble  of 
Sarancolin ;  the  brown  corridor  in  lumachel  of  Astracan ;  the 
white  corridor  in  marble  of  Lani;  the  black  corridor  in 
marble  of  Alabanda;  the  grey  corridor  in  marble  of  Sta- 
remma;  the  yellow  corridor  in  marble  of  Hesse;  the  green 
corridor  in  marble  of  the  Tyrol ;  the  red  corridor,  half  cherry- 
spotted  marble  of  Bohemia,  half  lumachel  of  Cordova;  the 
blue  corridor  in  turquin  of  Genoa;  the  violet  corridor  in 
granite  of  Catalonia;  the  mourning-hued  corridor  veined 
black  and  white  in  slate  of  Murviedro;  the  pink  corridor 
in  cipolin  of  the  Alps;  the  pearl  corridor  in  lumachel  of 
Nonetta;  and  the  corridor  of  all  colours,  called  "the  courtiers' 
corridor,"  in  motley. 

Richard  Lowther,  Viscount  Lonsdale,  owns  Lowther  in 
Westmoreland,  which  has  a  magnificent  approach,  and  a 
flight  of  entrance  steps  which  seems  to  invite  the  ingress 
of  kings. 

Richard,  Earl  of  Scarborough,  Viscount  and  Baron  Lumley 
of  Lumley  Castle,  Viscount  Lumley  of  Waterford  in  Ireland, 
and  Lord  Lieutenant  and  Vice- Admiral  of  the  county  of  North- 
umberland and  of  Durham,  both  city  and  county,  owns  the 


16  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

double  castleward  of  old  and  new  Sandbeck,  where  you  ad- 
mire a  superb  railing,  in  the  form  of  a  semicircle,  surround- 
ing the  basin  of  a  matchless  fountain.  He  has,  besides,  his 
castle  of  Lumley. 

Robert  Darcy,  Earl  of  Holderness,  has  his  domain  of 
Holderness,  with  baronial  towers,  and  large  gardens  laid  out 
in  French  fashion,  where  he  drives  in  his  coach-and-six,  pre- 
ceded by  two  outriders,  as  becomes  a  peer  of  England. 

Charles  Beauclerc,  Duke  of  St.  Alban's,  Earl  of  Burford, 
Baron  Heddington,  Grand  Falconer  of  England,  has  an  abode 
at  Windsor,  regal  even  in  comparison  with  the  king's. 

Charles  Bodville  Robartes,  Baron  Robartes  of  Truro,  Vis- 
count Bodmin  and  Earl  of  Radnor,  owns  Wimpole  in  Cam- 
bridgeshire, which  is  really  three  palaces  in  one,  having 
three  facades,  one  bowed  and  two  triangular.  The  approach 
is  by  an  avenue  of  trees  four  deep. 

The  most  noble  and  most  puissant  Lord  Philip,  Baron 
Herbert  of  Cardiff,  Earl  of  Montgomery  and  of  Pembroke, 
Ross  of  Kendall,  Parr,  Fitzhugh,  Marmion,  St.  Quentin,  and 
Herbert  of  Shurland,  Warden  of  the  Stannaries  in  the  coun- 
ties of  Cornwall  and  Devon,  hereditary  visitor  of  Jesus  Col- 
lege, possesses  the  wonderful  gardens  at  Wilton,  where  there 
are  two  sheaf-like  fountains,  finer  than  those  of  his  most 
Christian  Majesty  King  Louis  XIV.  at  Versailles. 

Charles  Seymour,  Duke  of  Somerset,  owns  Somerset  House 
on  the  Thames,  which  is  equal  to  the  Villa  Pamphili  at 
Rome.  On  the  chimney-piece  are  seen  two  porcelain  vases 
of  the  dynasty  of  Yuen,  which  are  worth  half  a  million  in 
French  money. 

In  Yorkshire,  Arthur,  Lord  Ingram,  Viscount  Irwin,  has 
Temple  Newsam,  which  is  entered  under  a  triumphal  arch, 
and  which  has  large  wide  roofs  resembling  Moorish  terraces. 

Robert,  Lord  Ferrers  of  Chartly,  Bourchier  and  Louvaine, 
has  Staunton  Harold  in  Leicestershire,  of  which  the  park  is 
geometrically  planned  in  the  shape  of  a  temple  with  a  facade, 
and  in  front  of  the  piece  of  water  is  the  great  church  with 
the  square  belfry,  which  belongs  to  his  lordship. 

In  the  county  of  Northampton,  Charles  Spencer,  Earl  of 


URSUS.  17 

Sunderland,  member  of  His  Majesty's  Privy  Council,  pos- 
sesses Althorp,  at  the  entrance  of  which  is  a  railing  with 
four  columns  surmounted  by  groups  in  marble. 

Laurence  Hyde,  Earl  of  Rochester,  has,  in  Surrey,  New 
Park,  rendered  magnificent  by  its  sculptured  pinnacles,  its 
circular  lawn  belted  by  trees,  and  its  woodland,  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  which  is  a  little  mountain,  artistically  rounded, 
and  surmounted  by  a  large  oak,  which  can  be  seen  from  afar. 

Philip  Stanhope,  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  possesses  Bretby 
Hall  in  Derbyshire,  with  a  splendid  clock  tower,  falconries, 
warrens,  and  very  fine  sheets  of  water,  long,  square,  and 
oval,  one  of  which  is  shaped  like  a  mirror,  and  has  two  jets, 
which  throw  the  water  to  a  great  height. 

Charles  Cornwallis,  Baron  Cornwallis  of  Eye,  owns  Broome 
Hall,  a  palace  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

The  most  noble  Algernon  Capel,  Viscount  Maiden,  Earl  of 
Essex,  has  Cashiobury  in  Hertfordshire,  a  country-seat  which 
is  in  the  shape  of  a  capital  H,  and  which  rejoices  sportsmen 
with  its  abundance  of  game. 

Charles,  Lord  Ossulston,  owns  Darnley  in  Middlesex,  ap- 
proached by  Italian  gardens. 

James  Cecil,  Earl  of  Salisbury,  has,  seven  leagues  from 
London,  Hatfield  House,  with  its  four  lordly  pavilions,  its 
belfry  in  the  centre,  and  its  grand  courtyard  of  black  and 
white  slabs,  like  that  of  St.  Germain.  This  palace,  which 
has  a  frontage  two  hundred  and  seventy-two  feet  in  length, 
was  built  in  the  reign  of  James  I.  by  the  Lord  High  Treasurer 
of  England,  the  great-grandfather  of  the  present  earl.  To  be 
seen  there  is  the  bed  of  one  of  the  Countesses  of  Salisbury;  it 
is  of  inestimable  value  and  made  entirely  of  Brazilian  wood, 
which  is  a  panacea  against  the  bites  of  serpents,  and  which  is 
called  milhombres,  that  is  to  say  "a  thousand  men."  On  this 
bed  is  inscribed,  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense. 

Edward  Rich,  Earl  of  Warwick  and  Holland,  is  owner  of 
Warwick  Castle,  where  whole  oaks  are  burnt  in  the  fire- 
places. 

In  the  parish  of  Sevenoaks,  Charles  Sackville,  Baron 
Buckhurst,  Baron  Cranfield,  Earl  of  Dorset  and  Middlesex, 

VOL.  XIX.  —  2 


18  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

is  owner  of  Knowle,  which  is  as  large  as  a  town  and  is  com- 
posed  of  three  palaces  standing  parallel  one  behind  the  other, 
like  ranks  of  infantry.  There  are  six  gables  in  steps  on  the 
principal  frontage,  and  a  gate  under  a  keep  with  four  towers. 

Thomas  Thynne,  Baron  Thynne  of  Warminster,  and  Vis- 
count Weymouth,  possesses  Longleat,  in  which  there  are  as 
many  chimneys,  cupolas,  pinnacles,  pavilions,  and  turrets, 
as  at  Chambord,  in  France,  which  belongs  to  the  king. 

Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Suffolk,  owns,  twelve  leagues  from 
London,  the  palace  of  Audley  End  in  Essex,  which  in  grand- 
eur and  dignity  scarcely  yields  the  palm  to  the  Escurial  of 
the  King  of  Spain. 

In  Bedfordshire,  Wrest  House  and  Park,  which  is  a  whole 
district,  enclosed  by  ditches,  walls,  woodlands,  rivers,  and 
hills,  belongs  to  Henry,  Marquis  of  Kent. 

Hampton  Court,  in  Herefordshire,  with  its  strong  em- 
battled keep,  and  its  gardens  bounded  by  a  piece  of  water 
which  divides  them  from  the  forest,  belongs  to  Thomas,  Lord 
Coningsby. 

Grimsthorp,  in  Lincolnshire, —  with  its  long  facade  broken 
by  turrets ;  its  park,  its  fish-ponds,  its  pheasantries,  its  sheep- 
folds,  its  lawns;  its  grounds  planted  with  rows  of  trees;  its 
groves,  its  walks,  its  shrubberies ;  its  flower-beds  and  borders, 
formed  in  square  and  lozenge-shape,  and  resembling  great 
carpets;  its  race-courses,  and  the  majestic  sweep  for  carriages 
to  turn  in  at  the  entrance  of  the  house, —  belongs  to  Robert, 
Earl  Lindsey,  hereditary  lord  of  the  forest  of  Waltham. 

Up  Park,  in  Sussex,  a  square  house,  with  two  symmetrical 
belfried  pavilions  on  each  side  of  the  great  courtyard,  be- 
longs to  the  Right  Honourable  Forde,  Baron  Grey  of  Werke, 
Viscount  Glendale  and  Earl  of  Tankerville. 

Newnham  Paddox,  in  Warwickshire,  which  has  two  quad- 
rangular fish-ponds  and  a  gabled  archway  with  a  large  win- 
dow of  four  panes,  belongs  to  the  Earl  of  Denbigh,  who  is 
also  Count  von  Rheinfelden,  in  Germany. 

Wytham  Abbey,  in  Berkshire,  with  its  French  garden  in 
which  there  are  four  curiously  trimmed  arbors,  and  its  great 
embattled  towers  supported  by  two  bastions,  belongs  to  Mon« 


URSUS.  19 

* 

fcague,  Earl  of  Abingdon,  who  also  owns  Bycote,  of  which  he 
is  Baron,  and  the  principal  door  of  which  bears  the  device 
Virtus  ariete  fortior. 

William  Cavendish,  Duke  of  Devonshire,  has  six  dwelling- 
places,  of  which  Chatsworth  (two-storied,  and  of  the  fines* 
order  of  Grecian  architecture)  is  one. 

The  Viscount  of  Kinalmeaky,  who  is  Earl  of  Cork,  in  Ire- 
land, is  owner  of  Burlington  House,  Piccadilly,  with  its 
extensive  gardens,  reaching  to  the  fields  outside  London; 
he  is  also  owner  of  Chiswick,  where  there  are  nine  magnifi- 
cent corps  de  logis;  he  also  owns  Londesborough,  which  is  a 
new  house  by  the  side  of  an  old  palace. 

The  Duke  of  Beaufort  owns  Chelsea,  which  contains  two 
Gothic  buildings,  and  a  Florentine  one;  he  has  also  Badmin- 
ton, in  Gloucestershire,  a  residence  from  which  a  number  of 
avenues  branch  out  like  rays  from  a  star.  The  most  noble 
and  puissant  prince  Henry,  Duke  of  Beaufort,  is  also  Mar- 
quis and  Earl  of  Worcester,  Earl  of  Glamorgan,  Viscount 
Grosmont,  and  Baron  Herbert  of  Chepstow,  Bagland,  and 
Gower,  Baron  Beaufort  of  Caldecott  Castle,  and  Baron  de 
Bottetourt. 

John  Holies,  Duke  of  Newcastle,  and  Marquis  of  Clare, 
owns  Bolsover,  with  its  majestic  square  keeps;  his  also,  is 
Haughton,  in  Nottinghamshire,  where  a  round  pyramid, 
made  to  imitate  the  Tower  of  Babel,  stands  in  the  centre 
of  a  basin  of  water. 

William,  Earl  of  Craven,  Viscount  Uffington,  and  Baron 
Craven  of  Hamstead  Marshall,  owns  Combe  Abbey  in  War- 
wickshire, where  is  to  be  seen  the  finest  water-jet  in  Eng- 
land; and  in  Berkshire  two  baronies,  Hamstead  Marshall, 
on  the  facade  of  which  are  five  Gothic  lanterns  sunk  in  the 
wall,  and  Ashdown  Park,  which  is  a  country-seat  situate  at 
the  point  of  intersection  of  cross-roads  in  the  forest. 

Linnseus,  Lord  Clancharlie,  Baron  Clancharlie  and  Hun- 
kerville,  Marquis  of  Corleone  in  Sicily,  derives  his  title  from 
the  Castle  of  Clancharlie,  built  in  912  by  Edward  the  Elder, 
as  a  defence  against  the  Danes.  Besides  Hunkerville  House, 
in  London,  which  is  a  palace,   he  has  Corleone  Lodge  at 


20  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Windsor,  which  is  another,  and  eight  castlewards,  one  at 
Burton-on-Trent,  with  a  royalty  on  the  carriage  of  plaster  of 
Paris;  then  Grumdaith,  Humble,  Moricambe,  Trewardraith, 
Hell-Kesters  (where  there  is  a  miraculous  well),  Phillinmore, 
with  its  turf  bogs,  Keculver,  near  the  ancient  city  Vagniac, 
Vinecaunton,  on  the  Moel-eulle  Mountain;  besides  nineteen 
boroughs  and  villages  with  reeves,  and  the  whole  of  Pen- 
neth  chase,  all  of  which  bring  his  lordship  40,000£.  a  year. 

The  one  hundred  and  seventy-two  peers  enjoying  their 
dignities  under  James  II.  possess  among  them  altogether 
a  revenue  of  1,272,000£.  sterling  a  year,  which  is  the  eleventh 
part  of  the  revenue  of  England. 

In  the  margin,  opposite  the  last  name  (that  of  Lin- 
naeus, Lord  Clancharlie),  there  was  a  note  in  the  hand- 
writing of  Ursus :  — 

"Rebel;  in  exile;  houses,  lands,  and  chattels  seques- 
trated.    It  is  well." 


IV. 

Ursus  admired  Homo.  One  admires  one's  counter- 
part.    That  is  a  universal  law. 

To  be  always  raging  inwardly  and  grumbling  out- 
wardly was  the  normal  condition  of  Ursus.  He  was  the 
malcontent  of  creation.  By  nature  he  was  a  man  ever 
in  opposition.  He  took  the  world  unkindly ;  he  gave 
his  approval  to  no  one  and  to  nothing.  The  bee  did 
not  atone  for  its  sting  by  its  honey-making ;  a  full- 
blown rose  did  not  absolve  the  sun  for  yellow  fever  and 
black  vomit.  It  is  probable  that  in  secret  Ursus  criti- 
cised Providence  a  good  deal.  "  Evidently, "  he  would 
say,  "  the  devil  works  by  a  spring,  and  the  mistake  that 
God  made  is  having  let  go  the  trigger. "  He  approved  of 
none  but  princes,  and  he  had  his  own  peculiar  way  of 


URSUS.  21 

expressing  his  approbation.  One  day,  when  James  II. 
made  a  gift  to  the  Virgin  in  a  Catholic  chapel  in  Ireland 
of  a  massive  gold  lamp,  Ursus,  passing  that  way  with 
Homo,  who  was  more  indifferent  to  such  things,  burst 
into  loud  exclamations  of  admiration  before  the  crowd, 
and  exclaimed :  "  It  is  certain  that  the  blessed  Virgin 
needs  a  lamp  much  more  than  those  barefooted  children 
there  need  shoes.  " 

Such  proofs  of  his  loyalty  and  such  evidences  of  his 
respect  for  established  powers  probably  contributed  in 
no  small  degree  to  make  the  magistrates  tolerate  his 
vagabond  life  and  his  disreputable  alliance  with  a 
wolf.  Sometimes  of  an  evening,  through  friendly  weak- 
ness, he  allowed  Homo  to  stretch  his  limbs  and  wander 
about.  The  wolf  was  incapable  of  an  abuse  of  confi- 
dence, and  behaved  in  society,  that  is  to  say  among 
men,  with  all  the  meekness  of  a  poodle.  All  the  same, 
if  bad-tempered  officials  had  to  be  dealt  with,  difficulties 
might  arise ;  so  Ursus  kept  the  honest  wolf  chained  up 
as  much  as  possible. 

From  a  political  point  of  view  his  writing  about  gold, 
not  very  intelligible  in  itself,  and  now  become  undeci- 
pherable, was  but  a  smear,  and  gave  no  handle  to  the 
enemy.  Even  after  the  time  of  James  II.,  and  under 
the  "  respectable  "  reign  of  "William  and  Mary,  his  cara- 
van might  have  been  seen  peacefully  going  its  rounds  of 
the  little  English  country  towns.  He  travelled  freely 
from  one  end  of  Great  Britain  to  the  other,  selling  his 
philtres,  and  phials,  and  performing,  with  the  assis- 
tance of  his  wolf,  his  quack  mummeries ;  and  he  passed 
with  ease  through  the  meshes  of  the  nets  which  the 
police  of  that  period  had  spread  all  over  England  in  or- 
der to  catch  wandering  gangs,  and  especially  to  stop  the 
progress  of  the  Comprachicos. 

This  was  right  enough.     Ursus  belonged  to  no  gang. 


22  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Ursus  lived  with  Ursus,  a  tete-a-tete,  into  which  the 
wolf  gently  thrust  his  nose.  If  Ursus  could  have  had 
his  way,  he  would  have  been  a  Caribbee;  that  being 
impossible,  he  preferred  to  be  alone.  The  solitary  man 
is  a  modified  savage,  accepted  by  civilization.  He  who 
wanders  most  is  most  alone ;  hence  his  continual  change 
of  place.  To  remain  anywhere  long,  suffocated  him 
with  the  sense  of  being  tamed.  He  spent  his  life  in 
moving  on.  The  sight  of  towns  increased  his  taste  for 
brambles,  thickets,  thorns,  and  caves.  His  home  was 
the  forest.  He  did  not  feel  much  out  of  his  element  in 
the  murmur  of  crowded  streets,  which  is  so  like  the 
rustling  of  trees.  The  crowd  to  some  extent  satisfies 
our  taste  for  the  desert.  What  he  disliked  most  in  his 
van  was  its  having  a  door  and  windows,  and  thus  re- 
sembling a  house.  He  would  have  realized  his  ideal 
had  he  been  able  to  put  a  cave  on  four  wheels  and  travel  ^ 
in  a  den.  > 

Ursus  did  not  smile,  as  we  have  already  said,  but  he 
used  to  laugh,  —  sometimes,  indeed  frequently,  a  bitter 
laugh.  There  is  consent  in  a  smile,  while  a  laugh  is 
often  a  refusal.  His  chief  business  was  to  hate  the 
human  race.  He  was  implacable  in  this  hatred.  Hav- 
ing satisfied  himself  that  human  life  is  a  dreadful  thing ; 
having  observed  the  superposition  of  evils,  —  kings  on 
the  people,  war  on  kings,  the  plague  on  war,  famine  on 
the  plague,  folly  on  everything ;  having  proved  a  certain 
degree  of  chastisement  in  the  mere  fact  of  existence; 
having  recognized  that  death  is  a  deliverance,  —  when 
they  brought  him  a  sick  man  he  cured  him ;  and  he  had 
cordials  and  beverages  to  prolong  the  lives  of  the  old. 
He  put  lame  cripples  on  their  legs  again,  and  hurled 
this  sarcasm  at  them :  "  There,  you  are  on  your  paws 
once  more ;  may  you  walk  long  in  this  vale  of  tears !  " 
When  he  saw  a  poor  man  dying  of  hunger,  he  gave  him 


URSUS.  23 

all  the  pence  he  had  about  him,  growling  out :  "  Live  on, 
you  wretch !  eat !  last  a  long  time !  It  is  not  I  who 
would  shorten  your  penal  servitude.  "  After  which,  he 
would  rub  his  hands  and  say,  "  I  do  men  all  the  harm  I 
can. " 

Through  the  little  window  at  the  back,  passers-by 
could  read  on  the  ceiling  of  the  van  these  words,  written 
within  in  big  letters,  but  visible  from  without,  — 
"  Uksus,  Philosopher.  * 


THE  COMPRACHICOS. 


WHO  ever  hears  the  word  "  Comprachicos"  now, 
and  who  knows  its  meaning? 

The  Comprachicos,  or  Comprapequefios,  were  a  hide- 
ous and  nondescript  association  of  wanderers,  famous  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  forgotten  in  the  eighteenth, 
unheard  of  in  the  nineteenth.  The  Comprachicos  are 
like  the  "  succession  powder, "  an  ancient  social  charac- 
teristic detail.  They  are  part  of  old  human  ugliness. 
To  the  great  eye  of  history,  which  sees  everything  col- 
lectively, the  Comprachicos  are  closely  connected  with 
the  colossal  evil  of  slavery.  Joseph  sold  hy  his  brethren 
is  one  chapter  in  their  history.  The  Comprachicos  have 
left  their  traces  in  the  penal  laws  of  Spain  and  England. 
You  find  here  and  there  in  the  dark  confusion  of  English 
laws  the  impress  of  this  horrible  truth,  like  the  foot- 
print of  a  savage  in  a  forest. 

Comprachicos,  the  same  as  Comprapequefios,  is  a  com- 
pound Spanish  word  signifying  "  Child-buyers. "  The 
Comprachicos  traded  in  children.  They  bought  and  sold 
them.  They  did  not  steal  them ;  the  kidnapping  of 
children  is  another  branch  of  industry.  And  what  did 
they  make  of  these  children  ?  Monsters.  Why  mon- 
sters ?  To  laugh  at.  The  populace  must  needs  laugh ; 
and    kings  too.     The   mountebank   is   wanted   in    the 


THE  COMPRACHICOS.  25 

streets ;  the  jester  at  the  Louvre.  The  first  is  called  a 
Clown ;  the  other,  a  Fool.  The  efforts  of  man  to  pro- 
vide himself  with  amusement  are  at  times  worthy  of  the 
attention  of  the  philosopher. 

What  are  we  sketching  in  these  few  preliminary 
pages?  A  chapter  in  the  most  terrible  of  books, —  a 
book  which  might  be  entitled,  "  The  Farming  of  the 
Unhappy  by  the  Happy.  " 


IL 

A  child  destined  to  be  a  plaything  for  men,  —  such  a 
thing  has  existed ;  such  a  thing  exists  even  now.  In 
simple  and  savage  times  such  a  thing  constituted  a  spe- 
cial trade.  The  seventeenth  century,  called  the  great 
century,  was  of  those  times.  It  was  a  century  very 
Byzantine  in  tone.  It  combined  corrupt  simplicity 
with  delicate  ferocity,  —  a  curious  variety  of  civiliza- 
tion ;  a  tiger  with  a  simper.  Madame  de  SeVigne"  minces 
on  the  subject  of  the  fagot  and  the  wheel.  That  cen- 
tury traded  a  good  deal  in  children.  Flattering  histo- 
rians have  concealed  the  sore,  but  have  divulged  the 
remedy,  —  Vincent  de  Paul. 

In  order  that  a  human  toy  should  prove  a  success,  he 
must  be  taken  in  hand  early.  The  dwarf  must  be  fash- 
ioned when  young.  We  play  with  childhood.  But  a 
well-formed  child  is  not  very  amusing ;  a  hunchback  is 
better  fun. 

Hence  grew  an  art.  There  were  trainers  who  took  a 
man  and  made  him  an  abortion ;  they  took  a  face  and 
made  a  muzzle  ;  they  stunted  growth  ;  they  distorted  the 
features.  The  artificial  production  of  teratological  cases 
had  its  rules.  It  was  quite  a  science ;  what  one  can 
imagine  as  the  antithesis  of  orthopedy.    Where  God  had 


26  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

put  a  look,  their  art  put  a  squint ;  where  God  had  made 
harmony,  they  made  discord ;  where  God  had  made  a 
perfect  picture,  they  made  a  caricature ;  and  in  the  eyes 
of  connoisseurs  it  was  the  caricature  that  was  perfect. 
They  debased  animals  as  well;  they  invented  piebald 
horses.  Turenne  rode  a  piebald  horse.  In  our  own 
days  do  we  not  dye  dogs  blue  and  green  ?  Nature  is  our 
canvas.  Man  has  always  wished  to  add  something  to 
God's  work.  Man  retouches  creation,  sometimes  for 
better,  sometimes  for  worse.  The  Court  buffoon  was 
nothing  but  an  attempt  to  lead  man  back  to  the  mon- 
key. It  was  a  move  in  the  wrong  direction ;  a  master- 
piece in  retrogression.  At  the  same  time  they  tried  to 
make  a  man  of  the  monkey.  Barbara,  Duchess  of  Cleve- 
land and  Countess  of  Southampton,  had  a  marmoset  for 
a  page.  Frances  Sutton,  Baroness  Dudley,  eighth  peeress 
in  the  bench  of  barons,  had  tea  served  by  a  baboon  clad 
in  gold  brocade,  which  her  ladyship  called  My  Black. 
Catherine  Sedley,  Countess  of  Dorchester  used  to  go  and 
take  her  seat  in  parliament  in  a  coach  with  armorial 
bearings,  behind  which  stood,  with  muzzles  high  up  in 
the  air,  three  Cape  monkeys  in  grand  livery.  A  Duchess 
of  Medina-Celi,  at  whose  toilet  Cardinal  Pole  assisted, 
had  her  stockings  put  on  by  an  ourang-outang.  These 
monkeys  thus  raised  in  the  social  scale  were  a  counter- 
poise to  men  brutalized  and  bestialized.  This  promis- 
cuousness  of  man  and  beast,  desired  by  the  great,  was 
especially  prominent  in  the  case  of  the  dwarf  and  the 
dog.  The  dwarf  never  quitted  the  dog,  which  was  al- 
ways bigger  than  himself ;  the  dog  was  the  pair  of  the 
dwarf,  —  it  was  as  if  they  were  coupled  with  a  collar. 
This  juxtaposition  is  authenticated  by  a  mass  of  historic 
records  ;  and  notably  by  the  portrait  of  Jeffrey  Hudson, 
dwarf  of  Henrietta  of  France,  daughter  of  Henri  IV., 
and  wife  of  Charles  L 


THE  COMPRACHICOS.  27 

To  degrade  man  tends  to  deform  him.  The  degrada- 
tion of  his  condition  was  completed  by  disfigurement. 
Certain  vivisectors  of  that  period  succeeded  marvellously 
well  in  effacing  from  the  human  face  the  divine  effigy. 
Doctor  Conquest,  member  of  the  Amen-street  College, 
and  judicial  visitor  of  the  chemists'  shops  of  London, 
wrote  a  book  in  Latin  on  this  pseudo-surgery,  the  pro- 
cesses of  which  he  describes.  If  we  are  to  believe  Jus- 
tus of  Carrickfergus,  the  inventor  of  this  branch  of 
surgery  was  a  monk  named  Avonmore,  —  an  Irish  word 
signifying  Great  Kiver. 

The  dwarf  of  the  Elector  Palatine,  Perkeo,  whose 
effigy  (or  ghost)  springs  from  a  magical  box  in  the  cave 
of  Heidelberg,  was  a  remarkable  specimen  of  this  sci- 
ence, which  was  very  varied  in  its  applications.  It 
fashioned  beings  the  law  of  whose  existence  was  hide- 
ously simple;  it  permitted  them  to  suffer,  and  com- 
manded them  to  amuse. 


III. 

The  manufacture  of  monstrosities  was  practised  on  a 
large  scale,  and  comprised  various  branches.  The  Sultan 
wanted  them ;  so  did  the  Pope,  —  the  one  to  guard  his 
women,  the  other  to  say  his  prayers.  These  were  of  a 
peculiar  kind,  incapable  of  reproduction.  Scarcely  hu- 
man beings,  they  were  useful  to  voluptuousness  and  to 
religion.  The  seraglio  and  the  Sistine  Chapel  utilized 
the  same  species  of  monsters ;  fierce  in  the  former  case, 
mild  in  the  latter. 

They  knew  how  to  produce  things  in  those  days  which 
are  not  produced  now ;  they  had  talents  which  we  lack, 
and  it  is  not  without  reason  that  some  good  folk  cry  out 
that  the  decline  has  come.     We  no  longer  know  how  to 


28  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

sculpture  living  human  flesh ;  this  is  consequent  on  the 
loss  of  the  art  of  torture.  Men  were  once  virtuosos  in 
that  respect,  hut  are  so  no  longer;  the  art  has  become 
so  simplified  that  it  will  soon  disappear  altogether.  In 
cutting  off  the  limbs  of  living  men,  in  opening  their 
bellies  and  dragging  out  their  entrails,  phenomena  were 
grasped  on  the  moment  and  discoveries  made.  We  are 
obliged  to  renounce  these  experiments  now,  and  are  thus 
deprived  of  the  progress  which  surgery  made  by  the 
aid  of  the  executioner. 

The  vivisection  of  former  days  was  not  limited  to  the 
manufacture  of  phenomena  for  the  market-place,  of 
buffoons  for  the  palace,  and  eunuchs  for  sultans  and 
popes.  It  abounded  in  varieties.  One  of  its  triumphs 
was  the  manufacture  of  cocks  for  the  King  of  England. 

It  was  the  custom,  in  the  palace  of  the  kings  of  Eng- 
land, to  have  a  sort  of  watchman  who  crowed  like  a 
cock.  This  watcher,  awake  while  all  others  slept, 
ranged  the  palace,  and  raised  from  hour  to  hour  the  cry 
of  the  farmyard,  repeating  it  as  often  as  was  necessary, 
and  thus  supplying  the  place  of  a  clock.  This  man  had 
in  childhood  undergone  an  operation  of  the  pharynx, 
which  was  part  of  the  art  described  by  Dr.  Conquest. 
Under  Charles  II.  the  salivation  caused  by  the  operation 
having  disgusted  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth,  the  ap- 
pointment was  indeed  preserved,  so  that  the  splendour  of 
the  crown  should  not  be  impaired ;  but  they  got  an  un- 
mutilated  man  to  represent  the  cock.  A  retired  officer 
was  generally  selected  for  this  honourable  employment. 
Under  James  II.  the  functionary  was  named  William 
Sampson,  Cock,  and  received  for  his  crow  91.  2s.  6d. 
annually.1  The  memoirs  of  Catherine  II.  inform  us 
that  at  St.  Petersburg,  scarcely  a  hundred  years  since, 

1  See  Chamberlayne's  "  Present  State  of  England,"  part  i.  chap,  xiii., 
p.  179.     1688. 


THE  COMPRACHICOS.  29 

whenever  the  czar  or  czarina  was  displeased  with  a  Rus- 
sian prince,  he  was  forced  to  squat  down  in  the  great 
ante-chamber  of  the  palace,  and  to  remain  in  that  pos- 
ture a  certain  number  of  days,  mewing  like  a  cat  or 
clucking  like  a  sitting  hen,  and  pecking  his  food  from 
the  floor.  These  fashions  have  passed  away  ;  but  not  so 
much,  perhaps,  as  one  might  imagine.  Nowadays,  cour- 
tiers slightly  modify  their  intonation  in  clucking  to 
please  their  masters.  More  than  one  picks  up  from  the 
ground  —  we  will  not  say  from  the  mud  —  what  he  eats. 

It  is  very  fortunate  that  kings  cannot  err.  Hence  their 
contradictions  never  perplex  us.  In  approving  always, 
one  is  sure  to  be  always  right,  —  which  is  pleasant. 
Louis  XIV.  would  not  have  liked  to  see  at  Versailles 
either  an  officer  acting  the  cock,  or  a  prince  acting  the 
turkey.  That  which  enhanced  the  royal  and  imperial 
dignity  in  England  and  Eussia  would  have  seemed  to 
Louis  the  Great  incompatible  with  the  crown  of  St. 
Louis.  We  know  how  intense  was  his  displeasure  when 
Madame  Henriette  forgot  herself  so  far  as  to  see  a  hen 
in  a  dream, —  which  was,  indeed,  a  grave  breach  of  good 
manners  in  a  lady  of  the  Court.  When  one  is  of  the 
Court,  one  should  not  dream  of  the  courtyard.  Bossuet, 
it  may  be  remembered,  was  nearly  as  much  scandalized 
as  Louis  XIV. 

IV. 

The  traffic  in  children  in  the  seventeenth  century,  as 
we  have  already  explained,  was  connected  with  a  trade. 
The  Comprachicos  engaged  in  the  traffic  and  carried  on 
the  trade.  They  bought  children,  worked  a  little  on 
the  raw  material,  and  re-sold  them  afterwards. 

The  vendors  were  of  all  kinds,  —  from  the  wretched 
father,  getting  rid  of  his  family,  to  the  master,  utilizing 


30  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

his  stud  of  slaves.  The  sale  of  men  was  a  simple  mat- 
ter. In  our  own  time  we  have  had  fighting  to  maintain 
this  right.  Eemember  that  it  is  less  than  a  century  ago 
that  the  Elector  of  Hesse  sold  his  subjects  to  the  King 
of  England,  who  required  men  to  be  killed  in  America. 
Kings  went  to  the  Elector  of  Hesse  as  we  go  to  the 
butcher  to  buy  meat.  The  Elector  had  food  for  powder 
in  stock,  and  hung  up  his  subjects  in  his  shop :  "  Come, 
buy !  they  are  for  sale !  "  In  England,  under  Jefferies, 
after  the  tragical  episode  of  Monmouth,  there  were  many 
lords  and  gentlemen  beheaded  and  quartered.  Those 
who  were  executed  left  wives  and  daughters,  widows 
and  orphans,  whom  James  II.  gave  to  the  queen,  his 
wife ;  the  queen  sold  these  ladies  to  William  Penn. 
Very  likely  the  king  had  so  much  per  cent  on  the  trans- 
action. The  extraordinary  thing  is,  not  that  James  II. 
should  have  sold  the  women,  but  that  William  Penn 
should  have  bought  them.  Penn's  purchase  is  excused, 
or  explained,  by  the  fact  that  having  a  wilderness  to 
sow  with  men,  he  needed  women  as  farming  imple- 
ments. Her  Gracious  Majesty  made  a  handsome  sum 
out  of  these  ladies.  The  young  sold  dear.  We  can  im- 
agine, with  the  uneasy  feeling  which  a  complicated 
scandal  arouses,  that  probably  some  old  duchesses  were 
thrown  in  cheap. 

The  Comprachicos  were  also  called  the  Cheylas,  —  a 
Hindoo  word,  which  conveys  the  idea  of  harrying  a  nest. 
For  a  long  time  the  Comprachicos  made  only  a  pretence 
of  concealing  themselves.  There  is  sometimes  a  favour- 
ing shadow  thrown  over  iniquitous  trades,  in  which  they 
thrive.  In  our  own  day  we  have  seen  an  association  of 
this  kind  in  Spain,  under  the  direction  of  the  ruffian 
Ramon  Selles,  continue  from  1834  to  1866,  and  keep 
three  provinces  in  terror  for  thirty  years,  —  Valencia, 
Alicante,    and  Murcia.     Under  the  Stuarts,  the  Com- 


THE  COMPRACHICOS.  31 

prachicos  were  by  no  means  in  bad  odour  at  Court.  On 
occasions  they  were  used  for  reasons  of  State.  For 
James  II.  they  were  almost  an  instrumentum  regni.  It 
was  a  time  when  families,  which  were  refractory  or  in 
the  way,  were  dismembered ;  when  a  descent  was  cut 
short ;  when  heirs  were  suddenly  suppressed.  At  times 
one  branch  was  defrauded  for  the  profit  of  another.  The 
Comprachicos  had  a  genius  for  disfigurement  which  rec- 
ommended them  to  State  policy.  To  disfigure  is  better 
than  to  kill.  There  was,  indeed,  the  Iron  Mask,  but 
that  was  a  dangerous  measure.  Europe  could  not  be 
peopled  with  iron  masks,  while  deformed  mountebanks 
ran  about  the  streets  without  creating  any  surprise. 
Besides,  the  iron  mask  is  removable ;  not  so  the  mask 
of  flesh.  You  are  masked  forever  by  your  own  flesh : 
what  can  be  more  ingenious  ? 

The  Comprachicos  worked  on  man  as  the  Chinese 
work  on  trees.  They  had  their  secrets,  as  we  have  said ; 
they  had  tricks  which  are  now  lost  arts.  A  sort  of  fan- 
tastic stunted  thing  left  their  hands ;  it  was  ridiculous 
and  wonderful.  They  could  touch  up  a  little  being  with 
such  skill  that  its  father  would  not  have  recognized  it. 
Sometimes  they  left  the  spine  straight  and  remade  the 
face.  Children  destined  for  tumblers  had  their  joints 
dislocated  in  a  masterly  manner ;  you  would  have  said 
they  had  been  boned.  Thus  gymnasts  were  made.  The 
Comprachicos  not  only  deprived  a  child  of  his  natural 
lineaments,  not  only  took  away  his  face  from  the  child, 
but  they  also  took  away  his  memory.  At  least  they 
took  away  all  they  could  of  it ;  the  child  had  no  con- 
sciousness of  the  mutilation  to  which  he  had  been  sub- 
jected. The  frightful  operation  left  its  traces  on  his 
countenance,  but  not  on  his  mind.  The  most  he  could 
recall  was  that  one  day  he  had  been  seized  by  men ;  that 
next  he  had  fallen  asleep ;  and  then  that  he  had  been 


32  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

cured.  Cured  of  what,  he  did  not  know.  Of  burnings 
with  sulphur  and  incisions  with  the  iron  he  remembered 
nothing.  The  Comprachicos  deadened  the  little  patient 
by  means  of  a  stupefying  powder  which  was  thought  to 
be  magical,  and  which  suppressed  all  pain.  This  pow- 
der has  been  known  from  time  immemorial  in  China, 
and  is  still  employed  there.  The  Chinese  have  been  in 
advance  of  us  in  all  our  inventions,  —  printing,  artil- 
lery, aerostation,  chloroform.  The  difference  is  that  the 
discovery  which  at  once  takes  life  in  Europe  and  be- 
comes a  prodigy  and  a  wonder,  in  China  remains  a 
chrysalis  and  is  preserved  in  a  deathlike  state.  China 
is  a  museum  of  embryos. 

As  we  are  in  China,  let  us  linger  a  moment  to  note 
another  peculiarity.  In  China,  from  time  immemorial, 
they  have  displayed  a  marvellous  refinement  in  industry 
and  art.  It  is  the  art  of  moulding  a  living  man.  They 
take  a  child  two  or  three  years  old,  put  him  in  a  more 
or  less  grotesque  porcelain  vase,  which  is  made  without 
top  or  bottom  to  allow  egress  for  the  head  and  feet. 
During  the  day  the  vase  is  set  upright,  and  at  night  is 
laid  down  to  allow  the  child  to  sleep.  Thus  the  child 
thickens  without  growing  taller,  filling  up  with  his 
compressed  flesh  and  distorted  bones  the  depressions  in 
the  vase.  This  development  in  a  bottle  continues  many 
years.  After  a  certain  time  it  becomes  irreparable. 
"When  they  consider  that  this  is  accomplished,  and  the 
monster  made,  they  break  the  vase.  The  child  comes 
out,  —  and,  behold,  there  is  a  man  in  the  shape  of  a 
mug! 

This  is  convenient;  by  ordering  your  dwarf  betimes, 
you  are  able  to  have  him  of  any  shape  you  wish. 


THE  COMPRACHICOS.  33 


V. 

James  II.  tolerated  the  Comprachicos  for  the  very 
good  reason  that  he  found  them  useful ;  at  least  it  hap- 
pened that  he  did  so  more  than  once. 

We  do  not  always  disdain  to  use  what  we  despise. 
This  low  trade,  an  excellent  substitute  sometimes  for 
the  higher  one  which  is  called  State  policy,  was  cen- 
sured but  not  persecuted.  There  was  no  surveillance, 
but  a  certain  amount  of  attention.  Sometimes  the  king 
went  so  far  as  to  avow  his  complicity ;  such  is  the  au- 
dacity of  monarchical  terrorism.  The  disfigured  one 
was  marked  with  the  fleur-de-lis ;  they  took  from  him 
the  mark  of  God,  and  put  on  him  the  mark  of  the  king. 
Jacob  Astley,  knight  and  baronet,  lord  of  Melton  Con- 
stable, in  the  county  of  Norfolk,  had  in  his  family  a 
child  who  had  been  sold,  upon  whose  forehead  the 
dealer  had  branded  a  fleur-de-lis  with  a  hot  iron.  In 
certain  cases  in  which  it  was  considered  desirable  to 
record  for  some  reason  the  royal  origin  of  the  new 
position  made  for  the  child,  they  used  such  means. 
England  has  always  done  us  the  honour  to  utilize  the 
fleur-de-lis  for  her  personal  use. 

The  Comprachicos,  allowing  for  the  shade  of  difference 
which  distinguishes  a  trade  from  a  fanaticism,  were 
analogous  to  the  Stranglers  of  India.  They  lived  in 
igangs,  and  to  facilitate  their  operations  affected  some- 
what of  the  Merry-Andrew.  They  encamped  here  and 
there,  but  were  grave  and  religious,  bearing  no  affinity 
to  other  nomads,  and  were  incapable  of  theft.  The  peo- 
ple for  a  long  time  wrongly  confounded  them  with  the 
Moors  of  Spain  and  the  Moors  of  China.  The  Moors  of 
Spain  were  counterfeiters ;  the  Moors  of  China  were 
thieves.     There  was  nothing  of  the  sort  about  the  Com- 

VOL.  XIX.  —  3 


34  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

prachicos ;  they  were  honest  folk.  Whatever  you  may 
think  of  them,  they  were  sometimes  sincerely  scrupu- 
lous. They  pushed  open  a  door,  entered,  bargained 
for  a  child,  paid,  and  departed.  All  was  done  with 
propriety. 

They  were  of  all  nationalities.  English,  French, 
Castilians,  Germans,  Italians  fraternized  under  the 
name  of  Comprachicos.  A  unity  of  idea,  a  unity  of 
superstition,  and  the  pursuit  of  the  same  calling  make 
such  fusions.  In  this  roving  fraternity  those  of  the 
Mediterranean  seaboard  represented  the  East,  those  of 
the  Atlantic  seaboard  the  West.  Many  Basques  held 
converse  with  many  Irishmen.  The  Basque  and  the 
Irishman  understand  each  other,  they  speak  the  old 
Punic  jargon ;  add  to  this  the  intimate  relations  of 
Catholic  Ireland  with  Catholic  Spain,  —  relations  such 
that  they  resulted  in  bringing  to  the  gallows  in  London 
one  who  was  almost  King  of  Ireland,  the  Celtic  Lord 
de  Brany. 

The  Comprachicos  were  rather  a  fellowship  than  a 
tribe ;  rather  a  residuum  than  a  fellowship.  They  were 
all  the  riff-raff  of  the  universe,  having  a  crime  for  their 
trade.  They  were  a  sort  of  harlequin  people,  all  com- 
posed of  rags.  To  gain  a  recruit  was  to  sew  on  another 
tatter.  To  appear  and  disappear,  to  wander  about,  was 
the  Comprachicos'  law  of  existence.  What  is  barely 
tolerated  cannot  take  root.  Even  in  kingdoms  where 
their  business  supplied  the  Courts,  and  occasionally 
served  as  an  auxiliary  to  the  royal  power,  they  were 
often  ill-treated.  Kings  made  use  of  their  art  and  then 
sent  the  artists  to  the  galleys.  These  inconsistencies 
belong  to  the  ebb  and  flow  of  royal  caprice,  —  "  For  such 
is  our  good  will  and  pleasure.  " 

A  rolling  stone  and  a  roving  trade  gather  no  moss. 
The  Comprachicos  were  poor.     They  might  have  said 


THE  COMPRACHICOS.  35 

what  the  lean  and  ragged  witch  said,  when  she  saw 
them  setting  fire  to  the  stake :  "  Le  jeu  n'en  vaut  pas  la 
chandelle.  "  It  is  possible,  nay  probable  (their  chiefs 
i  remaining  unknown),  that  the  wholesale  contractors  in 
the  trade  were  rich.  After  the  lapse  of  two  centuries 
it  would  be  difficult  to  throw  any  light  on  this  point. 

They  were,  as  we  have  said,  a  fellowship.  They  had 
their  laws,  their  oaths,  their  formulas,  —  almost  their 
cabala.  Any  one  nowadays  wishing  to  know  all  about  the 
Comprachicos,  need  only  go  into  Biscaya  or  Galicia ;  there 
were  many  Basques  among  them,  and  it  is  in  those 
mountains  that  one  hears  their  history.  To  this  day 
the  Comprachicos  are  spoken  of  at  Oyarzun,  at  Urbis- 
tondo,  at  Leso,  at  Astigarraga.  "  Aguardate  nino,  que 
voy  a  llamar  al  Comprachicos  "  (Take  care,  child,  or  I'll 
call  the  Comprachicos)  is  the  cry  with  which  mothers 
frighten  their  children  in  that  country. 

The  Comprachicos,  like  the  Zigeuner  and  the  Gipsies, 
had  appointed  places  for  periodical  meetings.  Their 
leaders  conferred  together  from  time  to  time.  In  the 
seventeenth  century  they  had  four  principal  points  of 
rendezvous, —  one,  the  pass  of  Pancorbo  in  Spain ;  one,  the 
glade  called  the  Wicked  Woman,  near  Diekirsch,  in 
Germany,  where  there  are  two  strange  bas-reliefs,  repre- 
senting a  woman  with  a  head  and  a  man  without  one  ; 
one  in  France,  the  hill  where  the  colossal  statue  of 
Massue-la-Promesse  stood  in  the  old  sacred  wood  of  Borvo 
Tomona,  near  Buurbonne  les  Bains ;  and  one  in  England, 
behind  the  garden  wall  of  William  Challoner,  Squire  of 
Gisborough  in  Cleveland,  Yorkshire. 


36  THE  MAW  WRO  LAUGHS. 


VI. 


The  laws  against  vagabonds  have  always  been  very 
rigorous  in  England.  In  her  Gothic  legislation  England 
seemed  to  be  inspired  with  this  principle,  Homo  errans 
/era  errante  pejor.  One  of  the  special  statutes  classifies 
the  man  without  a  home  as  "  more  dangerous  than  the 
asp,  dragon,  lynx,  or  basilisk  "  (atrocior  aspide,  dracone, 
lynce,  et  basilico).  For  a  long  time  England  troubled 
herself  as  much  concerning  the  Gipsies,  of  whom  she 
wished  to  be  rid,  as  about  the  wolves  of  which  she  had 
been  cleared.  In  that  the  Englishman  differed  from  the 
Irishman,  who  prayed  to  the  saints  for  the  health  of  the 
wolf,  and  called  him  "  my  god-father. " 

Nevertheless,  in  the  same  way  that  English  law  (as 
we  have  just  seen)  tolerated  the  wolf,  which  was  tamed, 
domesticated,  and  become  in  some  sort  a  dog,  so  it  toler- 
ated the  regular  vagabond,  become  in  some  sort  a  subject. 
It  did  not  trouble  itself  about  either  the  mountebank  or 
the  travelling  barber,  the  quack  doctor,  the  peddler,  or 
the  open-air  scholar,  as  long  as  they  had  a  trade  to  live 
by.  Further  than  this,  and  with  these  exceptions,  the 
kind  of  freedom  which  exists  in  the  wanderer  terrified 
the  law.  A  tramp  was  a  possible  public  enemy.  That 
modern  thing,  the  loafer,  was  then  unknown ;  that  an- 
cient thing,  the  vagrant,  was  alone  understood.  A  sus- 
picious appearance,  that  indescribable  something  which 
all  understand  and  none  can  define,  was  sufficient  reason 
why  society  should  seize  a  man  by  the  collar  and  de- 
mand, "  Where  do  you  live  ?  How  do  you  get  your  liv- 
ing ? "  And  if  he  could  not  answer,  harsh  penalties 
awaited  him.  Iron  and  fire  were  in  the  code :  the  law 
practised  the  cauterization  of  vagrancy.  Hence,  through- 
out English   territory  a  veritable  loi  des  suspects  was 


THE  COMPRACHICOS.  37 

applicable  to  vagrants  (who,  it  must  be  owned,  readily 
became  malefactors),  and  particularly  to  Gipsies,  whose 
expulsion  has  erroneously  been  compared  to  the  expul- 
sion of  the  Jews  and  the  Moors  from  Spain,  and  the 
Protestants  from  France.  As  for  us,  we  do  not  confound 
a  battue  with  a  persecution. 

The  Comprachicos,  we  insist,  had  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  the  Gipsies.  The  Gipsies  were  a  nation ;  the 
Comprachicos  were  a  compound  of  all  nations, — the 
lees  of  a  horrible  vessel  full  of  filthy  waters.  The  Com- 
prachicos had  not,  like  the  Gipsies  a  vernacular  of  their 
own ;  their  jargon  was  a  promiscuous  collection  of  idioms ; 
all  languages  were  mixed  together  in  their  language ; 
they  spoke  a  medley.  Like  the  Gipsies,  they  had  come 
to  be  a  people  winding  through  the  peoples ;  but  their 
common  tie  was  association,  not  race.  At  all  epochs  in 
history  one  finds  in  the  vast  liquid  mass  which  consti- 
tutes humanity  some  of  these  streams  of  venomous  men 
exuding  poison  around  them.  The  Gipsies  were  a  tribe ; 
the  Comprachicos,  a  freemasonry,  —  a  masonry  having 
not  a  noble  aim,  but  a  hideous  handicraft.  Finally, 
their  religions  differed :  the  Gipsies  were  Pagans ;  the 
Comprachicos  were  Christians,  and  more  than  that,  good 
Christians,  as  became  an  association  which,  although  a 
mixture  of  all  nations,  owed  its  birth  to  Spain,  a  devout 
land.  They  were  more  than  Christians,  they  were  Cath- 
olics ;  they  were  more  than  Catholics,  they  were  Pioman- 
ists ;  and  they  were  so  devoted  in  their  faith,  and  so  pure, 
that  they  refused  to  associate  with  the  Hungarian  no- 
mads of  the  comitat  of  Pesth,  commanded  and  led  by  an 
old  man,  having  for  sceptre  a  wand  with  a  silver  ball, 
surmounted  by  the  double-headed  Austrian  eagle.  It  is 
true  that  these  Hungarians  were  schismatics,  to  the  ex- 
tent of  celebrating  the  Assumption  on  the  29th  of 
August,  which  is  an  abomination. 


38  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

In  England,  so  long  as  the  Stuarts  reigned,  the  con- 
federation of  the  Comprachicos  was  (for  motives  of  which 
we  have  already  given  a  glimpse)  to  a  certain  extent  pro- 
tected. James  II. ,  a  devout  man,  who  persecuted  the 
Jews  and  trampled  out  the  Gipsies,  was  a  good  prince 
to  the  Comprachicos.  We  have  seen  why.  The  Com- 
prachicos were  buyers  of  the  human  wares  in  which  he 
was  a  dealer.  They  excelled  in  disappearances.  Disap- 
pearances are  occasionally  necessary  for  the  good  of  the 
State.  An  inconvenient  heir  of  tender  age  whom  they 
took  in  hand  lost  his  original  shape.  This  facilitated 
confiscation ;  the  transfer  of  titles  to  favourites  was  sim- 
plified. The  Comprachicos  were,  moreover,  very  dis- 
creet, and  very  taciturn.  They  bound  themselves  to 
silence  and  kept  their  word,  which  is  very  necessary  in 
affairs  of  State.  There  is  scarcely  an  instance  of  their 
having  betrayed  the  secrets  of  the  king.  This  was,  it  is 
true,  greatly  to  their  interest ;  for  if  the  king  had  lost, 
confidence  in  them,  they  would  have  been  in  great  dan- 
ger. They  were  thus  of  use  in  a  political  point  of  view. 
Moreover,  these  artists  furnished  singers  for  the  Holy  Fa- 
ther. The  Comprachicos  were  useful  for  the  "  Miserere  " 
of  Allegri.  They  were  particularly  devoted  to  the  Virgin 
Mary.  All  this  pleased  the  Stuarts.  James  II.  could 
not  be  hostile  to  men  who  carried  their  devotion  to  the 
Virgin  to  the  extent  of  manufacturing  eunuchs.  In  1688 
there  was  a  change  of  dynasty  in  England :  Orange 
supplanted  Stuart ;  William  III.  replaced  James  II. 

James  II.  went  away  to  die  in  exile ;  miracles  were 
performed  on  his  tomb,  and  his  relics  cured  the  Bishop 
of  Autun  of  fistula,  —  a  worthy  recompense  for  the 
Christian  virtues  of  the  prince. 

William,  having  neither  the  same  ideas  nor  the  same 
practices  as  James,  was  severe  to  the  Comprachicos.  He 
did  his  best  to  crush  out  the  vermin.     A  statute  of  the 


THE  COMPRACHICOS.  39 

early  part  of  William  and  Mary's  reign  hit  the  associa- 
tion of  child-buyers  hard.  It  was  as  the  blow  of  a  club 
to  the  Comprachicos,  who  were  from  that  time  pulver  • 
ized.  By  the  terms  of  this  statute,  those  of  the  fellow- 
ship taken  and  duly  convicted  were  to  be  branded  with 
a  red-hot  iron,  imprinting  "  E  "  on  the  shoulder,  signi- 
fying rogue ;  on  the  left  hand  "  T, "  signifying  thief ; 
and  on  the  right  hand  "  M, "  signifying  man-slayer. 
The  chiefs,  "  supposed  to  be  rich,  although  beggars  in 
appearance,"  were  to  be  punished  in  the  collistrigium, 
that  is,  the  pillory, —  and  branded  on  the  forehead  with 
a  "  P, "  besides  having  their  goods  confiscated  and  the 
trees  in  their  woods  rooted  up.  Those  who  did  not  in- 
form against  the  Comprachicos  were  to  be  punished  by 
confiscation  and  imprisonment  for  life,  as  for  the  crime 
of  misprision.  As  for  the  women  found  among  these 
men,  they  were  to  be  punished  by  the  cucking-stool. 
This  is  a  sort  of  see-saw,  the  name  of  which  is  derived 
from  the  French  word  coquine,  and  the  German  stuhl. 
English  law  being  endowed  with  remarkable  longevity, 
this  punishment  for  quarrelsome  women  still  exists  in 
English  legislation.  The  cucking-stool  is  suspended 
over  a  river  or  a  pond ;  the  woman  is  seated  upon  it. 
The  chair  is  then  allowed  to  drop  into  the  water,  and 
then  pulled  out.  This  dipping  of  the  woman  is  re- 
peated three  times,  "  to  cool  her  anger, "  says  the  com- 
mentator, Chamberlayne. 


BOOK  I. 

NIGHT  NOT  SO  BLACK  AS  MAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PORTLAND   BILL. 

A  STRONG  north  wind  blew  continuously  over  the 
mainland  of  Europe,  and  yet  more  roughly  over 
England,  during  the  entire  month  of  December,  1689, 
and  also  the  month  of  January,  1690.  Hence  the  terri, 
ble  cold  weather  which  caused  that  winter  to  be  noted 
as  "  memorable  to  the  poor  "  on  the  margin  of  the  old 
Bible  in  the  Presbyterian  chapel  of  the  Non-jurors  in 
London.  Thanks  to  the  lasting  qualities  of  the  old 
monarchical  parchment  employed  in  official  registers, 
long  lists  of  poor  persons,  found  dead  of  famine  and 
cold,  are  still  legible  in  many  local  repositories,  — par- 
ticularly in  the  archives  of  the  Liberty  of  the  Clink,  in 
the  borough  of  Southwark,  of  Pie  Powder  Court  (which 
signifies  Dusty  Feet  Court),  and  in  those  of  Whitechapel 
Court,  held  in  the  village  of  Stepney  by  the  bailiff  of 
the  Lord  of  the  Manor.  The  Thames  was  frozen  over, 
—  a  thing  which  does  not  happen  once  in  a  century,  as 
ice  forms  on  it  with  difficulty  owing  to  the  action  of  the 
sea.  Coaches  rolled  over  the  frozen  river,  and  a  fair  was 
held  upon  it  with  booths,  bear-baiting  and  bull-baiting. 


POKTLAKD  BILL.  41 

An  ox  was  roasted  whole  on  the  ice.  This  thick  ice 
lasted  two  months.  The  year  1690  exceeded  in  sever- 
ity even  the  famous  winters  at  the  beginning  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century  so  minutely  observed  by  Dr.  Gideon 
Delane,  —  the  same  who  was,  in  his  quality  of  apothe- 
cary to  King  James,  honoured  by  the  city  of  London 
with  a  bust  and  a  pedestal. 

One  evening,  towards  the  close  of  one  of  the  most 
bitter  days  of  the  month  of  January,  1690,  something 
unusual  was  going  on  in  one  of  the  numerous  inhospita- 
ble coves  of  the  Bay  of  Portland,  which  caused  the  sea- 
gulls and  wild  geese  to  scream  and  circle  round  its 
mouth,  not  daring  to  re-enter.  In  this  cove,  the  most 
dangerous  of  all  which  line  the  bay  during  the  continu- 
ance of  certain  winds,  and  consequently  the  most  lonely 
(well  suited,  by  reason  of  its  very  danger,  for  ships  in 
hiding),  a  little  vessel,  almost  touching  the  cliff,  so 
deep  was  the  water,  was  moored  to  a  point  of  rock.  "We 
are  wrong  in  saying,  "  The  night  falls ;  "  we  should  say 
"  The  night  rises, "  for  it  is  from  the  earth  that  darkness 
comes.  It  was  already  night  at  the  bottom  of  the  cliff; 
it  was  still  day  at  the  top.  Any  one  approaching  the 
vessel's  moorings  would  have  recognized  a  Biscayan 
hooker.  The  sun,  concealed  all  day  by  the  mist,  had 
just  set.  That  deep  and  sombre  melancholy  which 
might  be  called  longing  for  the  absent  sun  already  per- 
vaded the  scene.  As  there  was  no  breeze  from  the  sea, 
the  water  of  the  creek  was  calm.  This  was,  especially 
in  winter,  a  lucky  exception.  Almost  all  the  Portland 
creeks  have  sand-bars ;  and  in  heavy  weather  the  sea 
becomes  very  rough,  and,  to  pass  in  safety,  much  skill 
and  practice  are  necessary.  These  little  ports  (ports 
more  in  appearance  than  fact)  are  of  small  advantage. 
They  are  hazardous  to  enter,  dangerous  to  leave.  This 
evening,  for  a  wonder,  there  was  no  danger. 


42  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

The  Biscay  hooker  is  of  an  ancient  model,  now  fallen 
into  disuse.  This  kind  of  craft,  which  has  done  service 
even  in  the  navy,  was  stoutly  built  in  its  hull,  —  a  boat 
in  size,  a  ship  in  strength.  It  figured  in  the  Armada. 
Sometimes  the  war-hooker  attained  to  a  high  tonnage ; 
thus  the  "Great  Griffin,"  bearing  a  captain's  flag,  and 
commanded  by  Lopez  de  Medina,  measured  six  hundred 
and  fifty  good  tons,  and  carried  forty  guns.  But  the 
merchant  and  contraband  hookers  were  very  feeble  speci- 
mens. Sea-folk  held  them  at  their  true  value,  and  con- 
sidered the  model  a  very  sorry  one.  The  rigging  of  the 
hooker  was  made  of  hemp,  sometimes  with  wire  inside, 
which  was  probably  intended  as  a  means,  however  un- 
scientific, of  obtaining  indications,  in  the  case  of  mag- 
netic tension.  The  lightness  of  this  rigging  did  not 
exclude  the  use  of  heavy  tackle,  the  cabrias  of  the  Span- 
ish galleon,  and  the  cameli  of  the  Eoman  triremes.  The 
helm  was  very  long,  which  gives  the  advantage  of  a 
long  arm  of  leverage,  but  the  disadvantage  of  a  small 
arc  of  effort.  Two  wheels  in  two  pulleys  at  the  end  of 
the  tiller  corrected  this  defect,  and  compensated  to  some 
extent  for  the  loss  of  strength.  The  compass  was  well 
housed  in  a  perfectly  square  case,  and  well  balanced  by 
its  two  copper  frames  placed  horizontally,  one  inside 
the  other,  on  little  bolts,  as  in  Cardan's  lamps.  There 
were  both  science  and  cunning  in  the  construction  of  the 
hooker,  but  untutored  science  and  barbarous  cunning 
The  hooker  was  primitive,  like  the  praam  and  the 
canoe ;  was  akin  to  the  praam  in  stability  and  to  the 
canoe  in  swiftness ;  and,  like  all  vessels  born  of  the  in- 
i  stinct  of  the  pirate  and  fisherman,  it  had  remarkable  sea- 
1  going  qualities,  and  was  equally  well  suited  to  land-locked 
and  to  open  waters.  Its  system  of  sails,  complicated  in 
stays  and  very  peculiar,  allowed  of  its  navigating  the 
close  bays   of  Asturias   (which   are    little    more   than 


PORTLAND  BILL.  43 

enclosed  basins,  as  Pasages  for  instance)  as  well  as  the 
open  sea.  It  could  sail  round  a  lake,  and  sail  round 
the  world,  —  a  strange  craft,  as  good  for  a  pond  as  for  a 
storm.  The  hooker  is  among  vessels  what  the  wagtail 
is  among  birds,  —  one  of  the  smallest  and  yet  one  of  the 
boldest.  The  wagtail  perching  on  a  reed  scarcely  bends 
it,  and  flying  away  crosses  the  ocean. 

The  hooker  of  the  poorest  Biscayan  was  gilded  and 
painted.  Tattooing  was  also  one  of  the  accomplish- 
ments of  these  people,  who  are  still  to  some  extent 
savage  in  their  tastes.  The  superb  colouring  of  their 
mountains,  varied  by  dazzling  snows  and  emerald 
meadows,  teaches  them  the  wonderful  charm  that  orna- 
mentation exerts.  They  are  poverty-stricken  and  yet 
magnificent ;  they  put  coats-of-arms  on  their  cottages ; 
they  have  huge  asses,  which  they  bedizen  with  bells, 
and  huge  oxen,  on  which  they  put  gay  head-dresses  of 
feathers.  Their  coaches,  the  wheels  of  which  you  can 
hear  creaking  two  leagues  off,  are  illuminated,  carved, 
and  decked  with  ribbons.  A  cobbler  has  a  bas-relief  on 
his  door;  it  is  only  St.  Crispin  and  an  old  shoe,  but  it 
is  in  stone.  They  trim  their  leathern  jackets  with  lace. 
They  do  not  mend  their  rags,  but  they  embroider  them. 
The  Basques  are  like  the  Greeks,  children  of  the  sun; 
while  the  Valencian  wraps  himself,  bare  and  sad,  in  his 
mantle  of  russet  wool,  with  a  hole  to  pass  his  head 
through,  the  natives  of  Galicia  and  Biscay  delight  in 
fine  linen  shirts,  bleached  in  the  dew.  Their  thresholds 
and  their  windows  teem  with  fair  and  fresh  faces,  laugh- 
ing under  garlands  of  maize ;  a  joyous  and  proud  seren- 
ity shines  out  in  their  ingenious  arts,  in  their  trades,  in 
their  customs,  in  the  dress  of  their  maidens,  in  their 
songs.  The  mountain,  that  colossal  ruin,  is  all  aglow 
in  Biscay :  the  sun's  rays  penetrate  every  nook  and 
crevice.     The  wild  jaizquivel  is  full  of  idylls.     Biscay 


44  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

is  Pyrenean  grace  as  Savoy  represents  Alpine  grace. 
With  dangerous  bays,  with  storms,  with  clouds,  with 
flying  spray,  with  the  raging  of  the  waves  and  winds, 
with  terror,  with  uproar,  are  mingled  boat-women 
crowned  with  roses.  He  who  has  seen  the  Basque  coun- 
try once  longs  to  see  it  again.  It  Is  a  favoured  land,  — 
two  harvests  a  year ;  villages  resonant  and  gay ;  a  stately 
poverty ;  all  Sunday  the  sound  of  guitars,  dancing,  cas- 
tanets, love-making ;  houses  clean  and  bright ;  storks  in 
the  belfries. 

But  let  us  return  to  Portland,  that  rugged  mountain 
in  the  sea. 

The  peninsula  of  Portland,  viewed  geometrically,  pre- 
sents the  appearance  of  a  bird's  head,  of  which  the  bill 
is  turned  towards  the  ocean,  the  back  of  the  head  towards 
Weymouth ;  the  isthmus  is  its  neck.  Portland  exists 
now  only  for  trade.  The  value  of  the  Portland  stone 
was  discovered  by  quarrymen  and  plasterers  about  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Ever  since  that 
period  what  is  called  Roman  cement  has  been  made  of 
the  Portland  stone,  —  a  useful  industry,  enriching  the 
district  but  disfiguring  the  bay.  Two  hundred  years 
ago  these  coasts  were  being  eaten  away  as  a  cliff;  to- 
day, as  a  quarry.  The  pick  bites  meanly,  the  wave 
grandly  ;  hence  a  diminution  of  beauty.  To  the  magnifi- 
cent ravages  of  the  ocean  have  succeeded  the  measured 
strokes  of  men.  These  measured  strokes  have  annihi- 
lated the  creek  where  the  Biscay  hooker  was  moored. 
To  find  any  vestige  of  the  little  anchorage,  now  de- 
stroyed, the  eastern  side  of  the  peninsula  should  be 
searched,  towards  the  point  beyond  Folly  Pier  and 
Dirdle  Pier,  beyond  Wakeham  even,  between  the  place 
called  Church  Hope  and  the  place  called  Southwell. 

The  creek,  walled  in  on  all  sides  by  cliffs  much  taller 
than  its  width,  was  becoming  more  and  more  veiled  ia. 


PORTLAND  BELL.  45 

shadow.  The  misty  gloom,  usual  at  twilight,  became 
thicker;  it  was  like  the  growth  of  darkness  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  well.  The  opening  of  the  creek  seaward,  a 
narrow  passage,  traced  on  the  almost  night-black  interior 
a  pallid  rift  where  the  waves  were  moving.  You  must 
have  been  quite  close  to  perceive  the  hooker  moored  to 
the  rocks,  and,  as  it  were,  hidden  by  the  great  mantle 
of  shadow.  A  plank  extending  to  a  low  and  level  pro- 
jection of  the  cliff,  the  only  point  on  which  a  landing 
could  be  made,  placed  the  vessel  in  communication  with 
the  land.  Dark  figures  were  passing  and  repassing  one 
another  on  this  tottering  gangway,  and  in  the  shadow 
beyond  several  persons  could  be  dimly  discerned  stand- 
ing on  the  deck. 

It  was  less  cold  in  the  creek  than  out  at  sea,  thanks 
to  the  screen  of  rock  rising  to  the  north  of  the  basin, 
which  did  not,  however,  prevent  the  people  from  shiver- 
ing. They  were  hurrying.  The  effect  of  the  twilight 
defined  the  forms  as  though  they  had  been  punched  out 
with  a  tool.  Certain  indentations  in  their  clothes  were 
visible,  and  showed  that  they  belonged  to  the  class 
called  in  England,  "  The  ragged.  "  The  windings  of  the 
pathway  could  be  vaguely  distinguished  on  the  side  of 
the  cliff.  This  pathway,  full  of  curves  and  angles,  al- 
most perpendicular,  and  better  adapted  for  goats  than 
men,  terminated  at  the  platform  where  the  plank  was 
placed.  The  pathways  of  cliffs  ordinarily  imply  a  not 
very  inviting  declivity ;  they  plunge  downward  rather 
than  slope.  This  one  —  probably  some  ramification  of  a 
road  on  the  plain  above  —  was  disagreeable  to  look  at, 
so  steep  was  it.  From  below  you  saw  it  attain  by  a 
series  of  zig-zags  the  summit  of  the  cliff  where  it  passed 
out  on  to  the  high  plateau  through  a  cut  in  the  rock ; 
and  the  passengers  for  whom  the  vessel  was  waiting 
must  have  come  by  this  path. 


46  PORTLAND  BILL. 

No  step,  no  noise,  no  breath  was  heard  except  the  stir 
of  embarkation  which  was  being  made  in  the  creek.  At 
the  other  side  of  the  roads,  at  the  entrance  of  Eingstead 
Bay,  you  could  just  distinguish  a  fleet  of  shark-fishing 
boats,  which  were  evidently  out  of  their  reckoning. 
These  polar  boats  had  been  driven  from  Danish  into 
English  waters  by  the  whims  of  the  sea.  Northerly 
winds  play  these  tricks  on  fishermen.  They  had  just 
taken  refuge  in  the  anchorage  of  Portland,  —  a  sign  of 
bad  weather  expected  and  danger  out  at  sea.  They  were 
now  engaged  in  casting  anchor.  The  principal  boat  was 
placed  in  front  after  the  old  custom  in  Norwegian  flo- 
tillas, all  her  rigging  standing  out  black,  above  the  sea ; 
while  in  front  might  be  seen  the  iron  rack,  loaded  with 
all  kinds  of  hooks  and  harpoons  destined  for  the  Green- 
land shark,  the  dog-fish,  and  the  spinous  shark,  as  well 
as  the  nets  to  pick  up  the  sun-fish.  Except  a  few  other 
craft,  all  driven  into  the  same  corner,  the  eye  beheld 
nothing  on  the  vast  horizon.  Not  a  house,  not  a  ship. 
The  coast  in  those  days  was  not  inhabited,  and  the 
roads,  at  that  season,  were  not  safe. 

In  spite  of  the  ominous  indications  of  the  weather, 
the  persons  who  were  going  to  sail  away  in  the  Biscayan 
urea,  hastened  on  the  hour  of  departure.  They  formed 
a  busy  and  confused  group.  To  distinguish  one  from 
another  was  difficult ;  to  tell  whether  they  were  old  or 
young  was  impossible.  The  dim  evening  light  inter- 
mixed and  blurred  them ;  the  mask  of  shadow  was  over 
their  faces.  There  were  eight  of  them,  and  there  were 
apparently  one  or  two  women  among  them  whom  it  was 
hard  to  distinguish  under  the  rags  and  tatters  in  which 
the  group  was  attired,  —  clothes  which  were  no  longer 
either  man's  or  woman's.  Eags  have  no  sex.  A  smaller 
shadow,  flitting  to  and  fro  among  the  large  ones,  indi- 
cated either  a  dwarf  or  a  child.     It  was  a  child. 


CHAPTER  IL 

LEFT   ALONE. 

A  CLOSE  observer  might  have  noticed  that  all  wore 
long  cloaks,  torn  and  patched,  but  covering  them, 
and  if  need  be  concealing  them  up  to  the  very  eyes,  — 
useful  alike  against  the  north  wind  and  curiosity.  They 
moved  with  ease  under  these  cloaks.  The  greater  num- 
ber wore  a  handkerchief  tied  round  the  head,  — a  sort  of 
rudiment  which  marks  the  commencement  of  the  turban 
in  Spain.  This  head-dress  was  nothing  unusual  in  Eng- 
land. At  that  time  the  South  was  in  fashion  in  the 
North;  perhaps  this  was  connected  with  the  fact  that 
the  North  was  beating  the  South.  It  conquered  and 
admired.  After  the  defeat  of  the  Armada,  Castilian  was 
considered  in  the  halls  of  Elizabeth  as  the  court  lan- 
guage. To  speak  English  in  the  palace  of  the  Queen  of 
England  was  deemed  almost  an  impropriety.  To  adopt 
partially  the  manners  of  those  upon  whom  we  impose 
our  laws  is  very  common.  It  was  thus  that  Castilian 
fashions  penetrated  into  England;  while  as  an  offset, 
English  interests  crept  into  Spain. 

One  of  the  men  in  the  group  embarking  appeared  to 
be  a  chief.  He  had  sandals  on  his  feet,  and  was  bediz- 
ened with  gold-lace  tatters  and  a  tinsel  waistcoat,  shin- 
ing under  his  cloak  like  the  belly  of  a  fish.  Another 
pulled  down  over  his  face  a  huge  piece  of  felt,  cut  like 
a  sombrero ;  this  felt  had  no  hole  for  a  pipe,  thus  indi- 
cating the  wearer  to  be  a  man  of  letters. 


48  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

On  the  principle  that  a  man's  vest  is  a  child's  cloak, 
the  child  was  clad  in  a  sailor's  jacket,  which  reached  to 
his  knees.  By  his  height  you  would  have  supposed 
him  to  be  a  boy  of  ten  or  eleven ;  his  feet  were  bare. 

The  crew  of  the  hooker  was  composed  of  a  captain  and 
two  sailors.  The  hooker  had  apparently  come  from 
Spain,  and  was  about  to  return  thither.  She  was  be- 
yond a  doubt  engaged  in  a  stealthy  service  from  one 
coast  to  the  other.  The  persons  embarking  in  her  whis- 
pered among  themselves.  The  whisperings  interchanged 
by  these  creatures  was  a  composite  sound, —  now  a  word 
of  Spanish,  then  of  German,  then  of  French,  then  of 
Gaelic,  at  times  of  Basque.  It  was  either  a  patois  or  a 
slang.  They  appeared  to  be  of  all  nationalities,  and  yet 
to  belong  to  the  same  band.  The  motley  group  ap- 
peared to  be  a  company  of  comrades,  perhaps  a  gang  of 
accomplices.  The  crew  probably  belonged  to  the  same 
brotherhood. 

If  there  had  been  a  little  more  light,  and  if  one  could 
have  seen  more  distinctly,  one  might  have  perceived 
under  the  rags  of  these  people  rosaries  and  scapulars 
half-hidden.  One  of  the  women  in  the  group  had  a 
rosary  almost  equal  in  the  size  of  its  beads  to  that  of  a 
dervish,  and  easy  to  recognize  for  an  Irish  one  made  at 
Llanymthefry,  which  is  also  called  Llanandriffy.  One 
might  also  have  seen,  had  it  not  been  so  dark,  a  gilded 
figure  of  Our  Lady  and  Child  on  the  bow  of  the  hooker. 
It  was  probably  that  of  the  Basque  Notre  Dame,  —  a 
sort  of  Panagia  of  the  old  Cantabri.  Under  this  image, 
which  occupied  the  position  of  a  figurehead,  was  a  lan- 
tern, which  at  this  moment  was  not  lighted,  —  an  ex- 
cess of  caution  which  implied  an  extreme  desire  of 
concealment.  This  lantern  was  evidently  for  two  pur- 
poses :  when  lighted,  it  burned  before  the  Virgin,  and 
at  the  same  time  illumined  the  sea,  —  a  beacon  doing 


LEFT  ALONE.  49 

duty  as  a  taper.  Under  the  bowsprit  the  cut-water, 
long,  curved,  and  sharp,  projected  in  front  like  the  horn 
of  a  crescent.  At  the  top  of  the  cut-water,  and  at  the 
feet  of  the  Virgin,  a  kneeling  angel,  with  folded  wings, 
leaned  her  back  against  the  stem,  and  gazed  out  through 
a  spy -glass  at  the  horizon.  The  angel  was  gilded  like 
Our  Lady.  In  the  cut-water  were  holes  and  openings 
to  let  the  waves  pass  through,  which  afforded  an  oppor- 
tunity for  more  gilding  and  arabesques.  Under  the 
figure  of  the  Virgin  was  written,  in  gilt  capitals,  the 
word  "  Matutina, "  —  the  name  of  the  vessel,  invisible 
just  now  on  account  of  the  darkness. 

Amid  the  confusion  of  departure  there  were  thrown 
down  in  disorder,  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  the  goods 
which  the  voyagers  were  to  take  with  them,  and  which, 
by  means  of  the  plank  serving  as  a  bridge  across,  were 
being  passed  rapidly  from  the  shore  to  the  boat.  Bags 
of  biscuit,  a  cask  of  fish,  a  case  of  portable  soup,  three 
barrels  (one  of  fresh  water,  one  of  malt,  one  of  tar),  four 
or  five  bottles  of  ale,  an  old  portmanteau  buckled  up  by 
straps,  trunks,  boxes,  a  ball  of  tow  for  torches  and 
signals, —  such  was  the  lading.  These  ragged  people  had 
valises,  which  seemed  to  indicate  a  roving  life.  Wan- 
dering rascals  are  obliged  to  own  something ;  at  times 
they  would  prefer  to  fly  away  like  the  birds,  but  they 
cannot  do  so  without  abandoning  the  means  of  earning 
a  livelihood.  They  necessarily  possess  boxes  of  tools 
and  instruments  of  labour,  whatever  their  trade  may  be. 
Those  of  whom  we  speak  were  taking  their  baggage  with 
them.  No  time  was  lost ;  there  was  one  continued  pas- 
sing to  and  fro  from  the  shore  to  the  vessel,  and  from 
the  vessel  to  the  shore.  Each  one  did  his  share  of  the 
work ;  one  carried  a  bag,  another  a  chest.  Those  of  the 
promiscuous  company  who  were  possibly  or  probably 
women,  worked  like  the  rest.     They  overloaded  the  child. 

TOL.   XIX.  —  4 


50  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

It  was  doubtful  if  the  child's  father  or  mother  were 
in  the  group,  for  no  sign  of  interest  was  vouchsafed 
him.  They  made  him  work ;  but  that  was  all.  He 
appeared  not  a  child  in  a  family,  but  a  slave  in  a  tribe. 
He  waited  on  every  one,  and  no  one  even  spoke  to  him. 
Still  he  laboured  diligently,  and  like  all  the  other 
members  of  this  strange  party  he  seemed  to  have  but  one 
thought,  —  to  embark  as  quickly  as  possible.  Did  he 
know  why  ?  Probably  not ;  he  hurried  mechanically  be- 
cause he  saw  the  others  hurry. 

The  stowing  of  the  cargo  in  the  hold  was  soon  fin- 
ished, and  the  moment  to  put  off  arrived.  The  last  case 
had  been  carried  over  the  gangway,  and  nothing  was 
left  on  shore  but  the  men.  The  two  persons  in  the 
group  who  seemed  to  be  women  were  already  on  board ; 
six  persons,  the  child  among  them,  were  still  on  the  low 
platform  of  the  cliff.  Preparations  for  immediate  de- 
parture were  apparent  on  the  vessel ;  the  captain  seized 
the  helm,  a  sailor  took  up  an  axe  to  cut  the  hawser :  to 
cut  is  an  evidence  of  haste;  when  there  is  time  it  is 
unknotted. 

"  Andamos, "  said,  in  a  low  voice,  he  who  appeared  to 
be  chief  of  the  six,  and  who  had  the  spangles  on  his  tat- 
tered clothes.  The  child  rushed  towards  the  plank  in 
order  to  be  the  first  aboard.  As  he  placed  his  foot  on 
it,  two  of  the  men  hurried  by,  at  the  risk  of  throwing 
him  into  the  water,  got  in  before  him,  and  passed  on ; 
the  fourth  drove  him  back  with  his  fist,  and  followed 
the  third;  the  fifth,  who  was  the  chief,  bounded  into 
rather  than  sprang  aboard  the  vessel,  and  as  he  jumped 
in  kicked  the  plank,  which  fell  into  the  sea ;  a  stroke  of 
the  hatchet  cut  the  moorings,  the  helm  was  put  up,  the 
vessel  left  the  shore,  and  the  child  remained  on  land. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ALONE. 

THE  child  remained  motionless  on  the  rock,  with  his 
eyes  fixed ;  no  calling  out,  no  appeal.  Though 
this  was  unexpected  by  him,  he  uttered  not  a  word. 
The  same  silence  reigned  in  the  vessel.  No  cry  from 
the  child  to  the  men ;  no  farewell  from  the  men  to  the 
child.  There  was  on  both  sides  a  mute  acceptance  of 
the  widening  distance  between  them.  It  was  like  a 
separation  of  ghosts  on  the  banks  of  the  Styx.  The 
child,  as  if  nailed  to  the  rock,  up  which  the  tide  was  be- 
ginning to  creep,  watched  the  departing  bark.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  realized  his  position.  What  did  he  realize  ? 
Darkness. 

A  moment  more,  and  the  vessel  had  reached  the  mouth 
of  the  creek,  and  entered  it.  Against  the  clear  sky  the 
masthead  was  visible,  rising  above  the  split  blocks  be- 
tween which  the  strait  wound  as  between  two  walls. 
Then  it  was  seen  no  more ;  all  was  over ;  the  bark  had 
reached  the  sea. 

The  child  watched  its  disappearance ;  he  was  aston- 
ished but  thoughtful.  His  stupefaction  was  increased 
by  a  sense  of  the  grim  reality  of  existence.  It  seemed 
as  if  there  were  experience  in  this  youthful  being.  Did 
he,  perchance,  already  exercise  judgment?  Experience 
coming  too  early  constructs,  sometimes,  in  the  depths  of 
a  child's  mind  some  dangerous  balance,  in  which  the 
poor  little  soul  weighs  God.     Feeling  himself  innocent, 


52  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

he  submitted.  There  was  no  complaint ;  the  irreproach- 
able does  not  reproach.  His  rough  expulsion  drew  from 
him  no  sign ;  he  suffered  a  sort  of  internal  stiffening. 
The  child  did  not  bow  under  this  sudden  blow  of  fate, 
which  seemed  to  put  an  end  to  his  existence  ere  it  had 
well  begun ;  he  received  the  thunderstroke  standing.  It 
would  have  been  evident  to  any  one  who  could  have 
seen  his  astonishment  unmixed  with  dejection,  that,  in 
the  group  which  abandoned  him,  there  was  no  one  who 
loved  him,  and  no  one  whom  he  loved. 

Brooding,  the  child  forgot  the  cold.  Suddenly  the 
wave  wetted  his  feet,  —  the  tide  was  flowing ;  a  gust 
passed  through  his  hair,  —  the  north  wind  was  rising. 
He  shivered.  There  came  over  him,  from  head  to  foot, 
the  shudder  of  awakening.  He  glanced  about  him.  He 
was  alone.  Up  to  this  time  there  had  never  existed  for 
him  any  other  men  than  those  who  were  now  in  the 
hooker,  —  those  men  who  had  just  stolen  away.  Strange 
to  say,  those  men,  the  only  ones  he  knew,  were  really 
strangers  to  him.  He  could  not  have  told  who  they 
were.  His  childhood  had  been  passed  among  them, 
without  his  having  the  consciousness  of  being  one  of 
them.  He  was  in  juxtaposition  to  them,  nothing  more. 
He  had  just  been  forgotten  by  them.  He  had  no  money 
about  him,  no  shoes  on  his  feet,  scarcely  a  garment  on 
his  body,  not  even  a  piece  of  bread  in  his  pocket.  It 
was  winter;  it  was  night.  It  would  be  necessary  to 
walk  several  miles  before  a  human  habitation  could  be 
reached.  He  did  not  know  where  he  was.  He  knew 
nothing,  unless  it  was  that  those  who  had  come  with 
him  to  the  brink  of  the  sea  had  gone  away  without  him. 
He  felt  himself  put  outside  the  pale  of  life.  He  felt 
that  man  had  failed  him.     He  was  ten  years  old. 

The  child  was  in  a  desert,  between  heights  from 
which  he  saw  the  night  descending,  and  depths  where 


ALONE.  53 

he  heard  the  waves  murmuring.  He  stretched  out  his 
little  thin  arms  and  yawned.  Then,  suddenly,  with 
the  agility  of  a  squirrel,  or  perhaps  of  an  acrobat,  he 
turned  his  back  on  the  creek,  and  set  to  work  to  climb 
the  cliff.  He  escaladed  the  path,  left  it,  then  returned 
to  it,  quick  and  venturesome.  He  was  hurrying  inland, 
as  though  he  had  a  destination  marked  out ;  nevertheless 
he  was  going  nowhere.  He  hastened  on  without  an  ob- 
ject,—  a  fugitive  before  Fate.  To  climb  is  the  function 
of  a  man ;  to  crawl  is  that  of  an  animal ;  he  did  both. 

As  the  cliffs  of  Portland  face  southward,  there  was 
scarcely  any  snow  on  the  path ;  the  intensity  of  cold 
had,  however,  frozen  that  snow  into  dust  very  trouble- 
some to  the  walker.  The  child  freed  himself  of  it. 
His  jacket,  which  was  much  too  big  for  him,  compli- 
cated matters,  and  got  in  his  way.  Now  and  then  on 
an  overhanging  crag  or  in  a  declivity  he  came  upon  a 
little  ice,  which  caused  him  to  slip.  Then,  after  hang- 
ing some  moments  over  a  preeipice,  he  would  catch  hold 
of  a  dry  branch  or  projecting  stone.  Once  he  came  on 
a  vein  of  slate,  which  suddenly  gave  way  under  him, 
letting  him  down  with  it.  Crumbling  slate  is  treach- 
erous. For  some  seconds  the  child  slid  like  a  tile  on  a 
roof ;  he  rolled  to  the  extreme  edge  of  the  chasm ;  a  tuft 
of  grass  which  he  clutched  at  the  right  moment  saved 
him.  He  was  as  mute  on  the  verge  of  the  abyss  as  he 
had  been  in  the  company  of  the  men ;  he  gathered  him- 
self up  and  re-ascended  silently.  The  slope  was  steep ; 
so  he  had  to  zig-zag  in  ascending.  The  precipice  seemed 
to  grow  in  the  darkness,  and  the  summit  to  recede  far- 
ther and  farther  in  proportion  as  the  child  ascended ; 
but  at  last  he  reached  the  top.  He  had  scarcely  set  foot 
on  the  summit  when  he  began  to  shiver.  The  wind 
cut  his  face  like  a  whip-lash,  for  the  bitter  northwester 
was  blowing.     He  tightened  his  rough  sailor's  jacket 


54  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

about  his  chest.  It  was  a  good  coat,  called  in  ship- 
language  a  "  sou '-wester, "  because  made  of  a  sort  of  stuff 
that  allows  little  of  the  south-westerly  rain  to  penetrate. 

The  child,  having  gained  the  table-land,  stopped, 
planted  his  feet  firmly  on  the  frozen  ground  and  looked 
about  him.  Behind  him  was  the  sea ;  in  front  the  land ; 
above,  the  sky,  —  but  a  sky  without  stars ;  an  opaque 
mist  hid  the  zenith.  On  reaching  the  summit  of  the 
rocky  wall  he  found  himself  facing  the  interior,  and  he 
gazed  at  it  attentively.  It  stretched  before  him  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  flat,  frozen,  and  covered  with  snow. 
A  few  tufts  of  heather  shivered  in  the  wind.  No  roads 
were  visible,  — no  dwelling,  not  even  a  shepherd's  cot. 
Here  and  there,  pale,  spiral  vortices  might  be  seen, 
which  were  whirls  of  fine  snow,  snatched  from  the 
ground  by  the  wind  and  blown  away.  Successive  un- 
dulations of  ground  suddenly  became  misty  and  disap- 
peared from  view.  The  great  dull  plains  were  lost  in 
the  white  fog.  A  deep  silence  reigned,  far-reaching  as 
infinity,  hushed  as  the  tomb. 

The  child  turned  again  towards  the  sea.  The  sea, 
like  the  land,  was  white, —  the  one  with  snow,  the  other 
with  foam.  There  is  nothing  so  melancholy  as  the  light 
produced  by  this  double  whiteness.  The  sea  was  like 
steel,  the  cliff  like  ebony.  From  the  height  where  the 
child  was,  the  bay  of  Portland  appeared  almost  like  a 
geographical  map  in  a  semicircle  of  hills.  There  was 
something  dreamlike  in  that  nocturnal  landscape,  —  a 
wan  disk  belted  by  a  dark  crescent;  the  moon  some- 
times has  a  similar  appearance.  From  cape  to  cape, 
along  the  whole  coast,  not  a  single  spark  indicated  a 
hearth  with  a  fire;  not  a  lighted  window,  not  an  in- 
habited house,  was  to  be  seen.  On  earth  as  in  heaven 
there  was  no  light,  —  not  a  lamp  below,  not  a  star  above. 
Here  and  there  came  sudden  elevations  in  the  broad  ex- 


nd  disap- 
7 be  S\ 

Photogravure  by  Goupil  et  Cie.-Fiom  Pontine- 
by  Emile  Vernier. 


aven 
»ove. 
i  ex- 


F,,„t  ,„n  EtmU  le 


tom-aourr.  GotmilJt  . '' 


ALONE.  55 

panse  of  water,  as  the  wind  disturbed  and  wrinkled  the 
vast  sheet.  The  hooker  was  still  visible  in  the  bay, 
looking  like  a  black  triangle  gliding  over  the  water. 
The  "  Matutina  "  was  making  rapid  headway ;  she  seemed 
to  grow  smaller  every  minute.  Nothing  can  compare 
in  rapidity  with  the  flight  of  a  vessel  disappearing  in 
the  distance.  Suddenly  she  lighted  the  lantern  at  her 
prow.  Probably  the  darkness  closing  in  around  her 
made  those  on  board  uneasy,  and  the  pilot  thought  it 
necessary  to  throw  light  on  the  waves.  This  luminous 
point,  a  spark  seen  from  afar,  clung  like  a  spectral  light 
to  the  tall  black  form. 

There  was  a  storm  in  the  air ;  the  child  took  no  notice 
of  it,  but  a  sailor  would  have  trembled.  It  was  one  of 
those  moments  when  it  seems  as  if  the  elements  were 
changing  into  persons,  and  that  one  was  about  to  wit- 
ness the  mysterious  transformation  of  the  wind  into  the 
windgod.  The  sea  becomes  Ocean ;  its  power  reveals 
itself  as  Will :  hence  the  terror.  The  soul  of  man  fears 
to  be  thus  confronted  with  the  soul  of  Nature.  Chaos 
was  about  to  appear.  The  wind  rolled  back  the  fog, 
and  making  a  stage  of  the  clouds  behind  set  the  scene 
for  that  fearful  drama  of  wave  and  winter,  which  is 
called  a  snow-storm.  Vessels  putting  back  hove  in 
sight.  For  some  minutes  past  the  roads  had  no  longer 
been  deserted ;  every  moment  anxious  barks  hastening 
towards  an  anchorage  appeared  from  behind  the  capes ; 
some  were  doubling  Portland  Bill,  the  others  St.  Alban's 
Head.  From  afar  ships  were  running  in.  It  was  a  race 
for  life.  Southwards  the  darkness  had  thickened,  and 
clouds  full  of  menace  bordered  the  sea.  The  weight  of 
the  tempest  hanging  overhead  made  a  dreary  lull  on  the 
waves.     It  certainly  was  no  time  to  set  sail. 

Yet  the  hooker  had  sailed.  She  was  steering  due 
aouth.     She  was  already  out  of  the  gulf,  and  in  the 


56  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

open  sea.  Suddenly  there  came  a  gust  of  wind.  The 
"  Matutina, "  which  was  still  clearly  in  sight,  put  on  all 
sail,  as  if  resolved  to  profit  by  the  hurricane.  It  was 
the  nor'-wester,  a  wind  sullen  and  angry.  Its  weight 
was  felt  instantly.  The  hooker,  caught  broadside  on, 
staggered,  but  recovering  held  her  course  to  sea.  This 
indicated  a  flight  rather  than  a  voyage,  less  fear  of  sea 
than  of  land,  and  greater  dread  of  pursuit  from  man  than 
from  the  wind.  The  hooker,  passing  through  every  de- 
gree of  diminution,  sank  into  the  horizon.  The  little 
star  which  she  carried  paled  into  shadow,  then  disap- 
peared, —  this  time  for  good  and  all. 

At  least  the  child  seemed  to  understand  it  so,  for  he 
ceased  to  look  at  the  sea.  His  gaze  reverted  to  the 
plains,  the  moor,  the  hills,  where  it  might  be  possible 
to  find  some  living  creature.  Towards  this  unknown 
region  he  now  directed  his  steps. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

QUESTIONS. 

WHAT  kind  of  a  band   was   it  that  had  left  the 
child  behind  in  its  flight.     Were  those  fugitives 
Comprachicos  ? 

We  have  already  noted  the  measures  taken  by  William 
III.,  and  passed  by  Parliament  against  the  malefac- 
tors, male  and  female,  called  Comprachicos,  otherwise 
Comprapequenos,  otherwise  Cheylas.  There  are  laws 
which  scatter  people  to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth. 
The  law  enacted  against  the  Comprachicos  determined, 
not  only  the  Comprachicos,  but  vagabonds  of  all  sorts 
on  a  general  flight.  It  was  the  devil  take  the  hind- 
most. A  large  number  of  Comprachicos  returned  to 
Spain,  many  of  them,  as  we  have  said,  being  Basques. 
The  law  for  the  protection  of  children  had  at  first  this 
strange  result,  —  it  caused  many  children  to  be  aban- 
doned. The  immediate  effect  of  the  penal  statute  was 
to  produce  a  crowd  of  children,  found,  or  rather  lost. 
The  reason  is  evident.  Every  wandering  gang  contain- 
ing a  child  was  liable  to  suspicion.  The  mere  fact  of 
the  child's  presence  was  in  itself  a  denunciation.  "  They 
are  probably  Comprachicos. "  This  was  the  very  first 
idea  of  the  sheriff,  of  the  bailiff,  and  of  the  constable. 
Hence  arrest  and  inquiry.  People  simply  unfortunate, 
reduced  to  wander  and  to  beg,  were  seized  with  a  terror 
of  being  taken  for  Comprachicos,  although  they  were 


58  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

nothing  of  the  kind ;  for  the  weak  have  grave  fears  of 
possible  errors  in  justice.  Besides,  these  vagabonds  are 
very  easily  scared. 

The  charge  against  the  Comprachicos  was  that  they 
traded  in  other  people's  children.  But  the  promiscu- 
ousness  caused  by  poverty  and  indigence  is  such  that  at 
times  it  might  have  been  difficult  for  a  father  and 
mother  to  prove  a  child  their  own.  How  came  you  by 
this  child  ?  How  were  they  to  prove  that  they  had 
received  it  from  God?  The  child  became  a  danger: 
they  got  rid  of  it ;  to  fly  unencumbered  was  easier.  The 
parents  resolved  to  leave  it,  —  now  in  a  wood,  now  on 
a  beach,  now  down  a  well.  Many  children  were  found 
drowned  in  cisterns. 

Let  us  add  that  in  imitation  of  England  all  Europe 
henceforth  hunted  down  the  Comprachicos.  The  im- 
pulse of  pursuit  was  given.  There  is  nothing  like  bell- 
ing the  cat.  From  that  time  on  the  desire  to  capture 
Comprachicos  caused  much  rivalry  between  the  police  of 
the  different  countries,  and  the  alguazil  was  no  less 
watchful  than  the  constable. 

One  could  still  see,  twenty-three  years  ago,  on  a  stone 
of  the  gate  of  Otero,  an  untranslatable  inscription,  — 
the  words  of  the  code  outraging  propriety.  In  it,  how- 
ever, the  difference  which  existed  between  the  buyers 
and  kidnappers  of  children  is  very  strongly  marked. 
Here  is  part  of  the  inscription  in  somewhat  rough  Cas- 
tilian :  "  Aqui  quedan  las  orejas  de  los  Comprachicos, 
y  las  bolsas  de  los  robaninos,  mientras  que  se  van  ellos 
al  trabajo  de  mar.  "  The  confiscation  of  ears,  etc. ,  did 
not  prevent  their  owners  from  going  to  the  galleys. 
Hence  ensued  a  general  rout  among  all  vagabonds. 
They  started  frightened ;  they  arrived  trembling.  On 
every  shore  in  Europe  their  furtive  advent  was  closely 
watched.     It  was  impossible  for  such  a  band  to  em- 


QUESTIONS.  59 

bark  with  a  child,  since  to  disembark  with  one  was  so 
dangerous.    To  lose  the  child  was  a  much  easier  matter. 

And  this  child,  of  whom  we  first  caught  a  glimpse  in 
the  shadow  of  the  Portland  cliffs,  by  whom  had  he  been 
abandoned  ?    To  all  appearance  by  Comprachicos. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   TREE   OF  HUMAN   INVENTION. 

IT  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  The  wind 
was  diminishing,  —  a  sign,  however,  of  a  violent 
recurrence  later  on.  The  child  was  on  the  table-land  at 
the  extreme  south  end  of  Portland. 

Portland  is  a  peninsula ;  but  the  child  did  not  know 
what  a  peninsula  was,  and  had  never  even  heard  the 
name  of  Portland.  He  knew  only  one  thing ;  that  was 
that  one  could  walk  until  one  drops.  An  idea  is  a 
guide ;  but  he  had  no  idea.  They  had  brought  him 
there,  and  left  him  there.  They  and  there.  These  two 
enigmas  represented  his  doom.  They  were  humankind ; 
there  was  the  universe.  For  him  in  all  creation  there 
was  absolutely  no  basis  to  rest  upon  but  the  little  piece 
of  hard,  frozen  ground  where  he  set  his  naked  feet.  In 
the  great  twilight  world,  open  on  all  sides,  what  was 
there  for  him  ?  Nothing.  Around  him  was  the  vast- 
ness  of  human  desertion. 

The  child  crossed  the  first  plateau  diagonally,  then 
a  second,  then  a  third.  At  the  end  of  each  plateau 
the  child  came  to  a  break  in  the  ground.  The  slope 
was  sometimes  steep,  but  always  short;  the  high, 
bare  plains  of  Portland  resemble  great  flagstones  over- 
lapping one  another.  The  south  side  seems  to  enter 
under  the  protruding  slab,  the  north  side  laps  over  the 
next  one ;  this  made  ascents,  which  the  child  stepped 
over  nimbly.    From  time  to  time  he  stopped,  and  seemed 


THE  TREE  OF  HUMAN  INVENTION.  61 

to  hold  counsel  with  himself.  The  night  was  becoming 
very  dark ;  his  radius  of  sight  was  contracting.  He 
could  now  see  only  a  few  steps  before  him.  Suddenly 
he  stopped  and  listened  for  an  instant ;  then  with  an  al- 
most imperceptible  Dod  of  satisfaction  he  turned  quickly 
and  directed  his  steps  towards  an  eminence  of  moderate 
height,  which  he  dimly  perceived  on  his  right,  at  the 
end  of  the  plain  nearest  the  cliff.  There  was  on  the 
eminence  a  shape  which  in  the  mist  looked  like  a  tree. 
The  child  had  just  heard  a  noise  in  this  direction,  which 
was  neither  the  noise  of  the  wind  nor  of  the  sea ;  nor 
was  it  the  cry  of  an  animal.  He  thought  that  some  one 
was  there,  and  a  few  strides  brought  him  to  the  foot  of 
the  hillock. 

Some  one  was  there.  That  which  had  been  indistinct 
on  the  top  of  the  eminence  was  now  plainly  visible.  It 
looked  something  like  a  great  arm  thrust  straight  out  of 
the  ground ;  at  the  upper  extremity  of  the  arm  a  sort  of 
forefinger,  supported  from  beneath  by  the  thumb,  pointed 
out  horizontally ;  the  arm.  the  thumb,  and  the  forefinger 
formed  a  triangle  against  the  sky.  At  the  point  of  junc- 
ture of  this  peculiar  finger  and  this  peculiar  thumb  there 
was  a  line,  from  which  hung  something  black  and 
shapeless.  The  line  moving  in  the  wind  sounded  like  a 
chain. 

This  was  the  noise  the  child  had  heard.  Seen  closely, 
the  line  proved  to  be  that  which  the  sound  indicated,  — • 
a  chain;  a  single  chain  cable.  By  that  mysterious  law 
which  throughout  Nature  causes  appearances  to  exagger- 
ate realities,  the  place,  the  hour,  the  mist,  the  mournful 
sea,  the  angry  clouds  on  the  distant  horizon,  added  to 
the  effect  of  this  figure,  and  made  it  seem  enormous. 
The  mass  appended  to  the  chain  presented  the  appear- 
ance of  a  huge  scabbard.  There  was  a  round  knot  at  the 
top,  about  which  the  end  of  the  chain  was  fastened. 


62  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

The  scabbard  was  riven  asunder  at  the  lower  end,  and 
long  shreds  hung  between  the  rents.  A  faint  breeze 
stirred  the  chain,  and  that  which  was  appended  to  it 
swayed  gently  to  and  fro. 

It  was  altogether  an  object  to  inspire  indescribable 
dread.  Horror,  which  disproportions  everything,  in- 
creased its  dimensions,  without  changing  its  shape.  It 
was  a  condensation  of  darkness  into  a  definite  form. 
Twilight  and  moon-rise,  stars  setting  behind  the  cliff, 
the  clouds  and  winds,  seemed  to  have  entered  into  the 
composition  of  this  visible  nonentity.  The  sort  of  log 
hanging  in  the  wind  partook  of  the  impersonality  dif- 
fused over  sea  and  sky,  and  the  darkness  completed  this 
phase  of  the  thing  which  had  once  been  man.  It  was 
that  no  longer. 

To  be  naught  but  a  remainder !  —  such  a  thing  it  is 
beyond  the  power  of  language  to  express.  To  exist  no 
more,  yet  to  persist  in  existing ;  to  be  in  the  dread 
abvss,  yet  out  of  it ;  to  reappear  after  death  as  if  indis- 
soluble, —  all  this  makes  it  inexpressible.  There  is  a 
certain  amount  of  impossibility  mixed  with  such  a  real- 
ity. This  being, —  was  it  a  being?  This  black  witness 
was  a  remainder,  and  an  awful  remainder.  A  remainder 
of  what  ?  Of  Nature  first,  and  then  of  society ;  zero,  and 
yet  total.  The  wild  inclemency  of  the  weather  held  it 
at  its  will ;  the  deep  oblivion  of  solitude  environed  it. 
It  was  given  up  to  unknown  chances;  it  was  without 
defence  against  the  darkness,  which  did  with  it  what  it 
willed.  It  was  forever  the  patient ;  it  submitted ;  the 
hurricane  (that  ghastly  conflict  of  winds)  was  upon  it. 
The  spectre  was  given  over  to  pillage.  It  underwent  the 
horrible  outrage  of  rotting  in  the  open  air;  it  was  an 
outlaw  of  the  tomb.  There  was  no  peace  for  it  even  in 
annihilation ;  in  the  summer  it  fell  away  into  dust,  in 
the  winter  into  mud.    Death  should  be  veiled,  the  grave 


THE  TREE  OF  HUMAN  INVENTION.  63 

should  have  its  reserve.  Here  was  neither  veil  nor  re- 
serve, but  cynically  avowed  putrefaction.  It  is  effron- 
tery in  death  to  display  its  work ;  it  offends  all  the 
calmness  of  shadow  when  it  does  its  task  outside  its 
laboratory,  the  grave. 

This  dead  thing  had  been  stripped.  To  strip  one 
already  stripped,  —  relentless  act !  His  marrow  was  no 
longer  in  his  bones ;  his  entrails  were  no  longer  in  his 
body ;  his  voice  was  no  longer  in  his  throat.  A  corpse 
is  a  pocket  which  death  turns  inside  out,  and  empties. 
If  he  ever  was  an  I,  where  was  that  I  ?  There  still, 
perchance ;  and  this  was  fearful  to  think  of.  Something 
wandering  about  something  in  chains,  — can  one  imag- 
ine a  more  mournful  lineament  in  the  darkness  ? 

Eealities  exist  here  below  which  serve  as  issues  to  the 
unknown,  which  seem  to  facilitate  the  egress  of  specula- 
tion, and  at  which  hypothesis  snatches.  Conjecture  has 
its  compelle  intrare.  In  passing  by  certain  places  and 
before  certain  objects  one  cannot  help  stopping, —  a  prey 
to  dreams  into  the  realms  of  which  the  mind  enters.  In 
the  invisible  there  are  dark  portals  ajar.  No  one  could 
have  met  this  dead  man  without  meditating.  In  the 
vastness  of  dispersion  he  was  wearing  silently  away. 
He  had  had  blood  which  had  been  drunk,  skin  which 
had  been  eaten,  flesh  which  had  been  stolen.  Nothing 
had  passed  him  by  without  taking  somewhat  from  him. 
December  had  borrowed  cold  of  him;  midnight,  horror; 
the  iron,  rust;  the  plague,  miasma;  the  flowers,  per- 
fume. His  slow  disintegration  was  a  toll  paid  to  all, 
—  a  toll  of  the  corpse  to  the  storm,  to  the  rain,  to  the 
dew,  to  the  reptiles,  to  the  birds.  All  the  dark  hands 
of  night  had  rifled  the  dead.  He  was,  indeed,  an  inex- 
pressibly strange  tenant, —  a  tenant  of  the  darkness.  He 
was  on  a  plain  and  on  a  hill,  and  he  was  not ;  he  was 
palpable,  yet  vanished ;  he  was  a  shadow  accruing  to  the 


64  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

night.  After  the  disappearance  of  day  into  the  vast  of 
silent  obscurity,  he  became  in  lugubrious  accord  with 
all  around  him ;  by  his  mere  presence  he  increased  the 
gloom  of  the  tempest  and  the  calm  of  the  stars.  The 
unutterable  which  is  in  the  desert  was  condensed  in 
him ;  waif  of  an  unknown  fate,  he  commingled  with  all 
the  wild  secrets  of  the  night.  There  was  in  his  mys- 
tery a  vague  reverberation  of  all  enigmas ;  about  him 
life  seemed  sinking  to  its  lowest  depths ;  certainty  and 
confidence  appeared  to  diminish  in  his  environs.  The 
shiver  of  the  brushwood  and  the  grass,  a  desolate  melan- 
choly, an  anxiety  in  which  a  conscience  seemed  to  lurk, 
appropriated  with  tragic  force  the  whole  landscape  to 
that  black  figure  suspended  by  the  chain.  The  pres- 
ence of  a  spectre  in  the  horizon  is  an  aggravation  of 
solitude. 

This  spectre  was  a  Sign.  Having  unappeasable  winds 
around  him,  he  was  implacable.  Perpetual  shuddering 
made  him  terrible.  Fearful  to  say,  he  seemed  to  be  a 
centre  in  space,  with  something  immense  leaning  on 
him, — perhaps  that  equity,  half  seen  and  set  at  defi- 
ance, which  transcends  human  justice.  There  was  in 
his  unburied  continuance  the  vengeance  of  men  and  his 
own  vengeance.  He  was  a  testimony  in  the  twilight 
and  the  waste ;  he  was  in  himself  a  disquieting  sub- 
stance, since  we  tremble  before  the  substance  which  is 
the  ruined  habitation  of  the  soul.  For  dead  matter  to 
trouble  us,  it  must  once  have  been  tenanted  by  spirit. 
He  denounced  the  law  of  earth  to  the  law  of  heaven. 
Placed  there  by  man,  he  there  awaited  God.  Above  him 
floated,  blended  with  all  the  vague  distortions  of  the 
cloud  and  the  wave,  boundless  dreams  of  shadow. 

Who  could  tell  what  sinister  mysteries  lurked  behind 
this  phantom  ?  The  illimitable  circumscribed  by  naught 
—  nor  tree,  nor  roof,  nor  passer-by  —  was  around  the 


THE  TREE  OF  HUMAN  INVENTION.  65 

dead  man.  When  the  unchangeable  broods  over  us, 
when  heaven,  the  abyss,  the  life,  grave,  and  eternity 
appear  patent,  then  it  is  we  feel  that  all  is  inacces- 
sible, all  is  forbidden,  all  is  sealed.  When  infinity 
opens  to  us,  terrible  indeed  is  the  closing  of  the  gate 
behind. 


VOL.  XIX. —  5 


CHAPTER  VI. 

STRUGGLE   BETWEEN  DEATH  AND   NIGHT. 

THE  child  stood  before  this  thing  with  staring  eyes, 
dumb  and  wondering.  To  a  man  it  would  have 
been  a  gibbet ;  to  the  child  it  was  an  apparition.  Where 
a  man  would  have  seen  a  corpse,  the  child  saw  a  spectre. 
Besides,  he  did  not  understand. 

The  attractions  of  mysterious  horrors  are  manifold. 
There  was  one  on  the  summit  of  that  hill.  The  child 
took  one  step,  then  another;  he  ascended,  wishing  all 
the  while  to  descend;  and  he  approached,  wishing  all 
the  while  to  retreat.  When  he  got  close  under  the  gib- 
bet, he  looked  up  and  examined  the  spectre.  It  was 
tarred,  and  here  and  there  it  shone.  The  child  could 
distinguish  the  face.  That  too  was  coated  with  pitch ; 
and  this  mask,  which  appeared  viscous  and  sticky, 
varied  its  aspect  even  in  the  night  shadows.  The  child 
saw  the  mouth,  which  was  a  hole ;  the  nose,  which  was 
a  hole ;  the  eyes,  which  were  holes. 

The  body  was  wrapped,  and  apparently  corded  up,  in' 
coarse  canvas,  soaked  in  naphtha.  The  canvas  was 
mouldy  and  torn.  A  knee  protruded  through  it ;  a  rent 
disclosed  the  ribs.  The  face  was  the  colour  of  earth ; 
slugs,  wandering  over  it,  had  traced  across  it  vague 
ribbons  of  silver.  The  skull,  cracked  and  fractured, 
gaped  like  a  huge  rotten  apple.  The  teeth  were  still 
human,  for  they  retained  a  laugh ;  the  remains  of  a  cry 
eeemed  to  linger  in  the  open  mouth.     There  were  a  few 


STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  DEATH  AND  NIGHT.  67 

hairs  of  beard  on  the  cheek.  The  inclined  head  had  an 
air  of  attention.  Some  repairs  had  recently  been  made ; 
the  face  had  been  tarred  afresh,  as  well  as  the  ribs  and 
the  knee  which  protruded  from  the  canvas.  The  feet 
hung  out  below.  Just  underneath,  in  the  grass,  were 
two  shoes,  which  snow  and  rain  had  rendered  shapeless. 
These  shoes  had  fallen  from  the  dead  man's  feet.  The 
barefooted  child  looked  at  the  shoes. 

The  wind,  which  had  become  more  and  more  restless, 
was  now  and  then  interrupted  by  those  pauses  which 
foretell  the  approach  of  a  storm.  For  the  last  few  min- 
utes it  had  altogether  ceased  to  blow.  The  corpse  no 
longer  stirred ;  the  chain  was  as  motionless  as  a  plumb 
line.  Like  all  new-comers  into  life,  and  taking  into 
account  the  peculiar  influences  of  his  fate,  the  child  no 
doubt  felt  within  him  that  awakening  of  ideas  charac- 
teristic of  early  years,  which  endeavours  to  open  the 
brain  and  which  resembles  the  pecking  of  the  young 
bird  in  the  egg.  But  all  that  there  was  in  his  little 
consciousness  just  then  was  resolved  into  stupor.  Ex- 
cess of  sensation  has  the  effect  of  too  much  oil,  and  ends 
by  putting  out  thought.  A  man  would  have  put  himself 
questions ;  the  child  put  himself  none ;  he  only  looked. 
The  tar  gave  the  face  a  wet  appearance ;  drops  of  pitch, 
congealed  in  what  had  once  been  the  eyes,  produced  the 
effect  of  tears.  However,  thanks  to  the  pitch,  the  rav- 
ages of  death,  if  not  annulled,  had  been  greatly  retarded. 
That  which  hung  before  the  child  was  a  thing  of  which 
great  care  was  taken.  The  man  was  evidently  precious  ; 
and  though  they  had  not  cared  to  keep  him  alive,  they 
had  cared  to  preserve  him  dead.  The  gibbet  was  old 
and  worm-eaten,  although  strong,  and  had  been  in  use 
many  years. 

It  was  the  custom  in  England  to  tar  smugglers. 
They  were   hanged  on  the  seaboard,  coated  over  with 


68  THE  MAN   WHO   LAUGHS. 

pitch  an  left  swinging.  Examples  must  be  made  in 
public,  and  tarred  examples  last  longest.  The  tar  was 
a  fine  thing ;  by  renewing  it  they  were  spared  the  neces- 
sity of  making  too  many  fresh  examples.  In  those  days 
they  placed  gibbets  from  point  to  point  along  the  coast, 
as  nowadays  they  do  beacons.  The  hanged  man  did 
duty  as  a  lantern.  After  his  fashion,  he  guided  his 
comrades,  the  smugglers,  who  from  far  out  at  sea  per- 
ceived the  gibbets.  There  is  one,  first  warning  ;  another, 
second  warning.  It  did  not  however  stop  smuggling; 
but  public  order  is  made  up  of  such  things.  The  fashion 
lasted  in  England  up  to  the  beginning  of  the  present 
century.  In  1822  three  men  could  still  be  seen  hanging 
in  front  of  Dover  Castle.  But,  for  that  matter,  the  pre- 
serving process  was  employed  not  with  smugglers  alone. 
England  treated  robbers,  incendiaries,  and  murderers  in 
the  same  way.  Jack  Painter,  who  set  fire  to  the  govern- 
ment storehouses  at  Portsmouth,  was  hanged  and  tarred 
in  1776.  L'Abbe"  Coyer,  who  calls  him  Jean  le  Peintre, 
saw  him  in  1777 ;  Jack  Painter  was  still  hanging  above 
the  ruin  he  had  made,  and  was  re-tarred  from  time  to 
time.  His  corpse  lasted  (I  had  almost  said  lived)  nearly 
fourteen  years.  It  was  still  doing  good  service  in  1788 ; 
in  1790,  however,  they  were  obliged  to  replace  it  by 
another.  The  Egyptians  used  to  value  the  mummy  of 
the  king;  a  plebeian  mummy  can  also  be  of  service, 
it  seems. 

The  wind,  having  great  power  on  the  hill,  had  cleared 
it  of  all  snow.  Herbage  was  now  reappearing  on  it, 
interspersed  here  and  there  with  a  few  thistles ;  the  hill 
was  covered  with  that  close,  short  grass  which  grows  by 
the  sea,  and  makes  the  tops  of  cliffs  resemble  green 
cloth.  Under  the  gibbet,  on  the  very  spot  over  which 
hung  the  feet  of  the  executed  criminal,  was  a  long  thick 
tuft,  uncommon  on  such  poor  soil.     Corpses,  crumbling 


STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  DEATH  AND  NIGHT.  6& 

there  for  centuries  past,  accounted  for  the  beauty  of  the 
grass.     Earth  feeds  on  man. 

A  dreary  fascination  held  the  child  spell-bound.  He 
only  dropped  his  head  a  moment  when  a  nettle,  which 
felt  like  an  insect,  stung  his  leg;  then  he  looked  up 
again,  —  looked  up  at  the  face  which  was  looking  down 
on  him.  It  appeared  to  regard  him  the  more  steadfastly 
because  it  had  no  eyes.  It  was  a  comprehensive  glance, 
having  an  indescribable  fixedness,  in  which  there  was 
both  light  and  darkness,  and  which  emanated  from  the 
skull  and  teeth  as  well  as  from  the  empty  arches  of  the 
brow.  The  whole  head  of  a  dead  man  seems  to  have 
vision,  and  this  is  awful ;  no  eyeball,  yet  we  feel  that 
we  are  being  looked  at. 

Little  by  little  the  child  himself  was  becoming  petri- 
fied. He  no  longer  moved.  A  deadly  torpor  was  steal- 
ing over  him.  He  did  not  even  perceive  that  he  was 
losing  consciousness,  though  he  was  becoming  benumbed 
and  lifeless.  Winter  was  silently  delivering  him  over 
to  night.  There  is  something  of  the  traitor  in  winter. 
The  child  was  all  but  a  statue.  The  coldness  of  stone 
was  penetrating  his  bones ;  darkness,  that  insidious  rep- 
tile, was  creeping  over  him.  The  drowsiness  resulting 
from  snow  steals  over  one  like  a  dim  tide.  The  child 
was  being  slowly  invaded  by  a  stagnation  resembling 
that  of  the  corpse.  He  was  on  the  point  of  falling 
under  the  gibbet.  He  no  longer  knew  whether  he  was 
standing  upright  or  not. 

The  end  always  impending,  no  transition  between  to 
be  and  not  to  be,  the  return  to  the  crucible,  the  slip  pos- 
sible every  minute, — such  is  life!  Another  instant, 
and  the  child  and  the  dead  would  be  victims  of  the  same 
obliteration. 

The  spectre  seemed  to  understand  this,  and  not  to 
wish  it.     Suddenly  it  moved:  one  would  have  said  it 


70  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

was  warning  the  child.  The  wind  was  beginning  to 
blow  again.  Nothing  stranger  than  this  dead  man  in 
motion  could  be  conceived  of.  The  corpse  at  the  end  of 
the  chain,  swayed  by  the  invisible  gust,  assumed  an 
oblique  position ;  rose  on  the  left,  then  fell  back ;  re- 
ascended  on  the  right,  and  then  fell  and  rose  with  slow 
and  mournful  precision.  A  weird  game  of  see-saw ;  it 
seemed  as  though  one  saw  in  the  darkness  the  pendulum 
of  the  clock  of  Eternity. 

This  continued  some  time.  The  child  felt  himself 
waking  up  at  the  sight ;  for  even  through  his  increasing 
numbness  he  experienced  a  keen  sensation  of  fear.  The 
chain  with  every  oscillation  made  a  creaking  sound, 
with  hideous  regularity.  It  seemed  to  take  breath,  and 
then  to  resume.  This  creaking  was  like  the  cry  of  a 
grasshopper.  An  approaching  squall  is  heralded  by 
sudden  gusts  of  wind ;  all  at  once  the  breeze  increased 
into  a  gale.  The  corpse  quickened  its  dismal  oscilla- 
tions ;  it  no  longer  swung,  it  tossed.  The  chain,  which 
had  been  creaking,  now  shrieked;  it  seemed  as  if  its 
shriek  was  heard.  If  it  was  a  call,  it  was  obeyed. 
From  the  depths  of  the  horizon  came  a  rushing  sound : 
it  was  the  sound  of  wings. 

An  incident  now  occurred,  one  of  the  weird  incidents 
peculiar  to  graveyards  and  solitudes.  It  was  the  arrival 
of  a  flock  of  ravens.  Black  flying  specks  pricked  the 
clouds,  pierced  the  mist,  increased  in  size,  came  nearer, 
all  hastening  towards  the  hill  and  uttering  shrill  cries. 
It  was  like  the  approach  of  a  Legion.  The  winged  ver- 
min of  darkness  alighted  on  the  gibbet;  the  child  drew 
back  in  terror.  The  birds  crowded  on  the  gibbet ;  not 
one  was  on  the  corpse.  They  were  talking  among  them- 
selves ;  the  croaking  was  frightful.  The  howl,  the 
whistle,  and  the  roar  are  signs  of  life;  the  croak  is  a 
]  leased  announcement  of  putrefaction ;    in  it  you  can 


I 


'■■' 
' 4  ■  / 


. 

The  Child  at  the  Galfows. 

dismal  oscilla- 
Etched  by  H.  Lefort.  —  From  Dfflhangiaiii,  which 
by  Francois  Flan 

^yed. 


< 

t  you  can 


'■ 


STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  DEATH  AND  NIGHT.  71 

fancy  you  hear  the  grave  speak.     The  child  was  even 
more  overcome  with  terror  than  with  cold. 

Then  the  ravens  were  silent.  Finally  one  of  them 
flew  down  upon  the  skeleton.  This  was  the  signal : 
they  all  precipitated  themselves  upon  it.  There  was  a 
cloud  of  wings,  then  their  ranks  closed  up,  and  the 
skeleton  disappeared  under  a  swarm  of  black  objects 
struggling  in  the  darkness.  Just  then  the  corpse  moved. 
Was  it  the  corpse,  or  was  it  the  wind  ?  It  made  a 
frightful  bound.  The  hurricane,  which  was  increasing, 
came  to  its  aid.  The  skeleton  fell  into  convulsions. 
The  squall,  already  blowing  fiercely,  seized  hold  of  it, 
and  dashed  it  about  in  all  directions.  It  became  horri- 
ble ;  it  began  to  struggle,  —  an  awful  puppet,  with  a 
gallows'  chain  for  a  string.  It  seemed  as  if  some  one 
had  seized  the  string,  and  was  playing  with  the  mummy  ; 
it  leaped  about  as  if  it  would  fain  dislocate  itself.  The 
birds  frightened,  flew  off;  it  was  as  if  an  explosion  had 
scattered  the  unclean  creatures.  Then  they  returned  and 
a  fresh  struggle  began. 

The  dead  man  seemed  endowed  with  hideous  vitality. 
The  winds  lifted  him  as  though  they  meant  to  carry  him 
away.  He  seemed  to  be  struggling  and  to  be  making 
efforts  to  escape,  but  his  iron  collar  held  him  fast.  The 
birds  adapted  themselves  to  all  his  movements,  retreat- 
ing, then  striking  again,  —  scared  but  desperate.  The 
corpse,  moved  by  every  gust  of  the  wind,  had  shocks, 
starts,  fits  of  rage :  it  went,  it  came,  it  rose,  it  fell, 
driving  back  the  scattered  swarm.  The  fierce,  assailing 
flock  would  not  let  go  their  hold,  and  grew  stubborn ; 
the  spectre,  as  if  maddened  by  their  attacks,  redoubled 
its  blind  chastisement  of  space.  At  times  the  corpse 
was  covered  by  talons  and  wings ;  then  it  was  free. 
There  were  disappearances  of  the  horde ;  then  sudden 
furious   returns.     The  birds  seemed  frenzied.     Thrust- 


72  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

ing  of  claws,  thrusting  of  beaks,  croakiugs,  rendings  of 
shreds  which  were  no  longer  flesh,  creakings  of  the  gib- 
bet, shudderings  of  the  skeleton,  rattlings  of  the  chain, 
the  voices  of  the  storm  and  tumult, —  what  conflict  more 
fearful?  A  hobgoblin  warring  with  devils,  a  combat 
with  a  spectre ! 

At  times,  the  storm  redoubling  its  violence,  the 
hanged  man  revolved  as  if  upon  a  pivot,  turning  every 
way  at  once,  as  if  trying  to  run  after  the  birds.  The 
wind  was  on  his  side,  the  chain  against  him.  It  was  as 
if  dark-skinned  deities  were  mixing  themselves  up  in 
the  fray.  The  hurricane  took  part  in  the  battle.  As 
the  dead  man  turned  himself  about,  the  flock  of  birds 
wound  round  him  spirally.  It  was  a  whirl  in  a  whirl- 
wind. A  great  roar  was  heard  from  below,  —  it  was  the 
sea. 

As  the  child  was  gazing  at  this  nightmare,  he  sud- 
denly trembled  in  every  limb;  a  shiver  traversed  his 
frame ;  he  staggered,  tottered,  nearly  fell ;  recovered 
himself,  pressed  both  hands  to  his  forehead,  as  if  he 
felt  his  forehead  a  support.  Then,  with  hair  streaming 
in  the  wind,  he  descended  the  hill  with  long  strides, 
his  eyes  closed,  himself  almost  a  phantom,  leaving  that 
horror  of  the  night  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   NORTH   POINT  OF   PORTLAND. 

THE  child  ran  until  he  was  breathless,  at  random, 
desperate,  over  the  plain  into  the  snow,  into  space. 
His  flight  warmed  him.  He  needed  it.  Without  the 
run  and  the  fright  he  would  have  died.  When  his 
breath  failed  him,  he  stopped,  but  he  dared  not  look 
back.  He  fancied  that  the  birds  would  pursue  him, 
that  the  dead  man  had  undone  his  chain  and  was  per? 
haps  hurrying  after  him,  that  possibly  the  very  gibbet 
itself  was  descending  the  hill,  running  after  the  dead 
man;  he  feared  that  he  should  see  these  things  if  he 
turned  his  head.  When  he  had  somewhat  recovered  his 
breath,  he  resumed  his  flight. 

To  account  for  facts  does  not  belong  to  childhood. 
This  child  had  received  impressions  which  were  magni- 
fied by  terror,  but  he  did  not  link  them  together  in  his 
mind,  nor  form  any  conclusion  on  them.  He  was  going 
on,  no  matter  how  or  where ;  he  ran  in  agony  and  diffi- 
culty as  one  in  a  dream.  During  the  three  hours  or  so 
since  he  had  been  deserted,  his  onward  progress,  still 
vague,  had  changed  in  character.  At  first  it  was  a 
search ;  now  it  was  a  flight.  He  was  no  longer  con- 
scious of  hunger  or  cold ;  he  felt  only  fear.  One  instinct 
had  given  place  to  another.  To  escape  was  now  his  one 
desire,  —  to  escape.  From  what  ?  From  everything. 
On  all  sides  life  seemed  to  enclose  him  like  a  horrible 
wall.     If  he  could  have  fled  from  everything,  he  would 


74  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

have  done  so.  But  children  know  nothing  of  that 
breaking  from  prison  which  is  called  suicide.  He  was 
running;  he  ran  on  for  an  indefinite  time.  But  fear 
dies  with  lack  of  breath. 

All  at  once,  as  if  seized  by  a  sudden  accession  of  en- 
ergy and  intelligence,  he  stopped.  One  would  have  said 
he  was  ashamed  of  running  away.  He  drew  himself  up, 
stamped  his  foot,  and  with  head  erect  looked  round  him. 
There  was  no  hill,  no  gibbet,  no  flying  crows  visible 
now.  The  fog  had  resumed  possession  of  the  horizon. 
The  child  continued  his  way ;  but  now  he  no  longer  ran, 
but  walked.  To  say  that  this  meeting  with  a  corpse 
had  made  a  man  of  him  was  not  far  from  the  truth. 
The  gibbet  which  had  so  terrified  him  still  seemed  to 
him  an  apparition ;  but  terror  overcome  is  strength 
gained,  and  he  felt  himself  stronger.  Had  he  been  of 
an  age  to  probe  self,  he  would  have  discovered  a  thou- 
sand other  germs  of  meditation ;  but  the  reflection  of 
children  is  shapeless,  and  the  most  they  feel  is  the  bit- 
ter aftertaste  of  that  which,  obscure  to  them,  the  man 
later  on  calls  indignation.  Let  us  add  that  a  child  has 
the  faculty  of  promptly  accepting  the  conclusions  of  a 
sensation  ;  the  distant  boundaries  which  amplify  painful 
subjects  escape  him.  A  child  is  protected  by  the  very 
limit  of  his  understanding  from  emotions  which  are  too 
complex.  He  sees  the  fact,  and  little  else.  The  diffi- 
culty of  being  satisfied  with  half-formed  ideas  does  not 
exist  so  far  as  he  is  concerned.  It  is  not  until  later 
that  experience  comes,  with  its  brief,  to  conduct  the 
lawsuit  of  life.  Then  he  confronts  groups  of  facts  which 
have  crossed  his  path ;  the  understanding,  cultivated 
and  enlarged,  draws  comparisons  ;  the  memories  of  youth 
reappear  like  the  traces  of  a  palimpsest  after  erasure; 
these  memories  form  the  bases  of  logic,  and  that  which 
was  a  vision  in  the  child's  brain  becomes  a  syllogism  in 


THE  NORTH  POINT  OF  PORTLAND.  75 

the  man's.     Experience  is  varied,  however,  and  leads  to 
good  or  evil  according  to  natural  disposition. 

The  child  had  run  quite  a  quarter  of  a  league,  and 
walked  another  quarter,  when  suddenly  he  felt  the  crav- 
ings of  hunger.  A  thought  which  altogether  eclipsed 
the  hideous  apparition  on  the  hill  occurred  to  him,  — ■ 
that  he  must  eat.  Happily  there  are  in  man  brute 
instincts  which  serve  to  lead  him  back  to  reality. 
But  what  to  eat,  where  to  eat,  how  to  eat?  He  felt 
in  his  pockets  mechanically,  well  knowing  that  they 
were  empty.  Then  he  quickened  his  pace,  without 
knowing  whither  he  was  going.  He  was  hastening 
towards  a  possible  shelter.  This  faith  in  a  shelter  is 
one  of  the  convictions  rooted  by  God  in  man ;  to  believe 
in  a  shelter  is  to  believe  in  God. 

On  that  snow-clad  plain,  however,  there  was  nothing 
resembling  a  roof.  Yet  the  child  went  on,  and  the 
waste  continued  bare  as  far  as  eye  could  reach.  There 
had  never  been  a  human  habitation  on  the  table-land. 
It  was  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  in  holes  in  the  rocks, 
that  the  aboriginal  inhabitants  had  dwelt  long  ago, — 
men  who  had  slings  for  weapons,  dried  cow-dung  for 
fuel,  for  a  god  the  idol  Heil  standing  in  a  glade  at 
Dorchester,  and  for  a  trade  the  fishing  of  that  grey  coral 
which  the  Gauls  called  plin,  and  the  Greeks  Isidis 
plocamos.  The  child  made  his  way  along  as  best  he 
could.  Destiny  is  made  up  of  cross-roads ;  an  option  of 
path  is  sometimes  dangerous.  This  little  creature  had 
an  early  choice  of  doubtful  chances.  He  continued  to 
advance,  but  although  the  muscles  of  his  thighs  seemed 
to  be  of  steel,  he  began  to  tire.  There  were  no  tracks 
in  the  plain,  or  if  there  were  any  the  snow  had  obliter- 
ated them.  Instinctively  he  directed  his  course  east- 
wards. Sharp  stones  had  wounded  his  heels ;  had  it 
been  daylight,  blood-stains  might  have  been  seen  in  the 


76  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

foot-prints  he  left  in  the  snow.  He  recognized  no  land- 
marks; for  he  was  crossing  the  plain  from  south  to 
north,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  band  with  which  he 
had  come,  to  avoid  meeting  any  one,  had  crossed  it  from 
east  to  west.  They  had  probably  sailed  in  some  fisher- 
man's or  smuggler's  boat  from  a  point  on  the  coast  of 
Uggescombe  (such  as  St.  Catherine's  Cape),  or  Swancry, 
to  Portland,  to  find  the  hooker  which  awaited  them ;  and 
they  must  have  landed  in  one  of  the  creeks  of  Weston, 
and  re-embarked  in  one  of  the  creeks  of  Easton.  That 
route  intersected  the  one  the  child  was  now  following ; 
but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  recognize  the  road. 

On  the  plain  of  Portland  there  are  here  and  there  oc- 
casional strips  of  elevated  land,  ending  abruptly  at  the 
shore,  where  they  plunge  straight  down  into  the  sea. 
The  wandering  child  had  now  reached  one  of  these  cul- 
minating points  and  stopped  on  it,  hoping  that  a  broader 
view  might  furnish  some  helpful  indications.  He  tried 
to  see  around  him.  Before  him,  in  place  of  an  horizon, 
was  a  vast  livid  opacity.  He  looked  at  this  attentively, 
and  under  the  intentness  of  his  gaze  objects  became  less 
indistinct.  At  the  base  of  a  distant  eminence  to  the 
eastward  (a  moving  and  wan  sort  of  precipice,  which  re- 
sembled a  cliff  of  the  night)  crept  and  floated  some  dim 
black  specks,  some  mere  shreds  of  vapour.  The  pale 
opacity  was  fog,  the  black  shreds  were  smoke.  Where 
there  is  smoke  there  must  be  men.  The  child  turned 
his  steps  in  that  direction.  He  saw  some  distance  off  a 
descent,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  descent,  among  shapeless 
conformations  of  rock,  blurred  by  the  mist,  what  seemed 
to  be  either  a  sandbank  or  a  tongue  of  land,  probably 
connecting  the  plains  in  the  horizon  with  the  table-land 
ne  had  just  crossed.  It  was  evident  he  must  pass  that 
way.  He  had,  in  fact,  arrived  at  the  Isthmus  of  Port- 
land, a  diluvian  alluvium  which  is  called  Cheshil. 


THE  NORTH  POINT  OF  PORTLAND.  77 

The  child  began  now  to  descend  the  side  of  the  plateau. 
The  descent  was  difficult  and  rough.  It  was  (with  less 
ruggedness,  however)  the  reverse  of  the  ascent  he  had 
made  on  leaving  the  creek.  Every  ascent  is  balanced 
by  a  decline ;  after  having  clambered  up,  he  now  crawled 
down.  He  leaped  from  one  rock  to  another  at  the  risk 
of  a  sprain,  and  at  the  risk  of  falling  into  the  vague 
depths  below.  To  save  himself  when  he  slipped  on  the 
rock  or  on  the  ice,  he  caught  hold  of  tufts  of  weeds  and 
furze,  thick  with  thorns,  the  points  of  which  ran  into 
his  fingers.  Sometimes  he  came  to  an  easier  declivity, 
where  he  took  breath  as  he  descended ;  then  came  to  a 
precipice  again,  where  each  step  was  fraught  with  peril. 
In  descending  precipices  every  movement  is  a  problem. 
One  must  be  skilful  under  penalty  of  death.  These 
problems  the  child  solved  with  an  instinct  which  would 
have  won  him  the  admiration  of  apes  and  mountebanks. 
The  descent  was  steep  and  long.  Nevertheless  he  was 
nearing  the  Isthmus,  of  which  from  time  to  time  he 
caught  a  glimpse.  Now  and  then,  as  he  bounded  or 
dropped  from  rock  to  rock,  he  pricked  up  his  ears,  his 
head  erect  the  while  like  a  listening  deer.  He  was 
hearkening  to  a  diffused  and  faint  uproar,  far  away  to 
the  left,  like  the  deep  note  of  a  clarion.  It  was  the 
roar  of  the  winds,  preceding  that  fearful  northern  blast, 
which  is  heard  rushing  from  the  pole,  like  an  invasion 
of  trumpets.  At  the  same  time  the  child  felt  on  his 
brow,  on  his  eyes,  and  on  his  cheeks  something  which 
was  like  the  palms  of  cold  hands  being  placed  on  his 
face.  These  were  large  frozen  flakes,  sown  at  first  softly 
in  space,  then  eddying  wildly  and  heralding  a  snow- 
storm. The  child  was  soon  covered  with  them.  The 
snow-storm,  which  for  the  last  hour  had  been  raging 
on  the  sea,  had  now  reached  the  land,  and  was  slowly 
invading  the  plains. 


BOOK  II. 

THE  HOOKER  AT  SEA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SUPERHUMAN  LAWS. 

'  I  ^HE  snow-storm  is  one  of  the  greatest  mysteries  of 
-*■  the  ocean.  It  is  the  most  obscure  of  things  mete- 
orological ;  obscure  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  It  is  a 
mixture  of  fog  and  storm ;  and  even  in  our  own  day  we 
cannot  well  account  for  the  phenomenon.  Hence  many 
disasters. 

We  try  to  explain  all  things  by  the  action  of  wind 
and  wave ;  yet  in  the  air  there  is  a  force  which  is  not 
the  wind,  and  in  the  waters  a  force  which  is  not  the 
wave.  That  force,  both  in  the  air  and  in  the  water,  is 
effluvium.  Air  and  water  are  two  nearly  identical  liq- 
uid masses,  entering  into  the  composition  of  each  other 
by  condensation  and  dilatation,  so  that  to  breathe  is  to 
drink.  Effluvium  alone  is  fluid.  The  wind  and  the 
wave  are  only  impulses ;  effluvium  is  a  current.  The 
wind  is  visible  in  clouds,  the  wave  is  visible  in  foam ; 
effluvium  is  invisible.  From  time  to  time,  however,  it 
says,  "  I  am  here. "  Its  "  I  am  here  "  is  a  clap  of 
thunder. 

The  snow-storm  offers  a  problem  analogous  to  the  dry 
fog.  If  the  solution  of  the  callina  of  the  Spaniards,  and 
the  quobar  of  the  Ethiopians  be  possible,  assuredly  that 


SUPERHUMAN  LAWS.  79 

solution  will  be  achieved  by  attentive  observation  of 
magnetic  effluvium. 

But  for  effluvium  a  host  of  circumstances  would  remain 
unexplained.  Strictly  speaking,  the  changes  in  the 
velocity  of  the  wind,  varying  from  three  feet  per  second 
to  two  hundred  and  twenty  feet,  would  explain  the 
variations  of  the  waves  rising  from  three  inches  in  a 
calm  sea  to  thirty-six  feet  in  a  raging  one.  Strictly 
speaking,  the  horizontal  direction  of  the  winds,  even  in 
a  squall,  enables  us  to  understand  how  it  is  that  a  wave 
thirty  feet  high  can  be  fifteen  hundred  feet  long.  But 
why  are  the  waves  of  the  Pacific  four  times  higher  near 
America  than  near  Asia ;  that  is  to  say,  higher  in  the 
East  than  in  the  West  ?  Why  is  the  contrary  true  of 
the  Atlantic?  Why,  at  the  Equator,  are  they  highest 
in  the  middle  of  the  sea  ?  Wherefore  these  deviations 
in  the  swell  of  the  ocean?  This  is  something  which 
magnetic  effluvium,  combined  with  terrestrial  rotation 
and  sidereal  attraction,  can  alone  explain. 

Is  not  this  mysterious  complication  needed  to  explain 
an  oscillation  of  the  wind  veering,  for  instance,  by  the 
west  from  southeast  to  northeast,  then  suddenly  return- 
ing in  the  same  great  curve  from  northeast  to  southeast, 
so  as  to  make  in  thirty-six  hours  a  prodigious  circuit  of 
five  hundred  and  sixty  degrees  ?  Such  was  the  preface 
to  the  snow-storm  of  March  17,  1867. 

The  storm-waves  of  Australia  reach  a  height  of  eighty 
feet ;  this  fact  is  connected  with  close  proximity  of  the 
Pole.  Storms  in  those  latitudes  result  less  from  dis- 
order of  the  winds  than  from  submarine  electrical  dis- 
turbances. In  the  year  1866  the  transatlantic  cable  was 
disturbed  at  regular  intervals  in  its  workings  for  two 
hours  in  the  twenty-four,  — from  noon  to  two  o'clock, 
—  by  a  sort  of  intermittent  fever.  Certain  compositions 
and  decompositions  of  forces  produce  certain  phenomena 


80  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

which  force  themselves  on  the  calculations  of  the  seaman 
under  penalty  of  shipwreck.  The  day  that  navigation, 
now  a  routine,  shall  become  a  branch  of  mathematics  ;  the 
day  we  shall,  for  instance,  seek  to  know  why  it  is  that  hot 
winds  sometimes  come  from  the  north,  and  cold  winds 
from  the  south ;  the  day  when  we  shall  understand  that 
diminutions  of  temperature  are  proportionate  to  oceanic 
depths ;  the  day  when  we  shall  realize  that  the  globe  is  a 
vast  load-stone  polarized  in  immensity,  with  two  axes 
(an  axis  of  rotation,  and  an  axis  of  effluvium,  intersecting 
each  other  at  the  centre  of  the  earth),  and  that  the  mag- 
netic poles  turn  the  geographical  poles ;  when  those  who 
risk  life  will  choose  to  risk  it  scientifically ;  when  the 
captain  shall  be  a  meteorologist,  and  the  pilot  a  chemist, 
—  then  will  many  catastrophes  be  avoided.  The  sea  is 
as  magnetic  as  it  is  aquatic ;  a  host  of  unknown  forces 
float  in  its  liquid  waves.  To  behold  in  the  sea  only  a 
mass  of  water  is  not  to  behold  it  at  all.  The  sea  is  an 
ebb  and  flow  of  fluid,  complicated  by  magnetic  and 
capillary  attractions  even  more  than  by  hurricanes. 
Molecular  adhesion  manifested  among  other  phenomena 
by  capillary  attraction,  although  microscopic,  takes  in 
the  ocean  its  place  in  the  grandeur  of  immensity ;  and 
the  wave  of  effluvium  sometimes  aids,  sometimes  coun- 
teracts, the  wave  of  the  air  and  the  wave  of  the  waters. 
He  who  is  ignorant  of  electric  law  is  ignorant  of 
hydraulic  law;  for  the  one  intermixes  with  the  other. 
It  is  true  there  is  no  study  more  difficult  nor  more  ob- 
scure ;  it  verges  on  empiricism,  just  as  astronomy  verges 
on  astrology ;  and  yet  without  this  study  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  real  navigation.  Having  said  this  much, 
we  will  pass  on. 

One  of  the  most  dangerous  components  of  the  sea  is 
the  snow-storm.  The  snow-storm  is  above  all  things 
magnetic ;  the  pole  produces  it  as  it  produces  the  aurora 


SUPERHUMAN  LAWS.  81 

borealis.  Storms  are  the  nervous  attacks  and  delirious 
frenzies  of  the  sea.  The  sea  has  its  ailments.  Tem- 
pests may  be  compared  to  maladies.  Some  are  fatal, 
others  are  not ;  some  may  be  escaped,  others  cannot.  A 
snow-storm  is  considered  extremely  dangerous  on  the 
sea.  Jarabija,  one  of  the  pilots  of  Magellan,  termed 
it  "a  cloud  issuing  from  the  devil's  sore  side.  "  1  Sur- 
couf  said :  "  II  y  a  du  trousse-galant  dans  cette  tempgte-' 
la. "  The  old  Spanish  navigators  called  this  kind  of 
squall,  la  nevada  when  it  came  with  snow ;  la  helada, 
when  it  came  with  hail.  According  to  them,  bats  fell 
from  the  sky  with  the  snow.  Snow-storms  are  charac- 
teristic of  polar  latitudes ;  nevertheless,  at  times  they 
glide,  one  might  almost  say  tumble,  into  our  climates. 

The  "  Matutina, "  as  we  have  seen,  plunged  resolutely 
into  the  perils  of  the  night, — perils  greatly  increased  by 
the  impending  storm.  She  braved  them  with  a  sort  of 
tragic  audacity,  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  she  had 
received  due  warning. 

1  Una  nobe  salida  del  malo  lado  del  diablo. 


VOL.  XIX.  —  6 


CHAPTEE  IL 

OUB  FIRST  ROUGH   SKETCHES  FILLED   IN. 

WHILE  the  hooker  was  in  the  gulf  of  Portland, 
there  was  very  little  sea;  the  ocean,  though 
gloomy,  was  almost  still,  and  the  sky  was  yet  clear. 
The  wind  was  very  little  felt  on  the  vessel,  for  the 
hooker  hugged  the  cliff  as  closely  as  possible,  it  serving 
as  a  screen  to  her. 

There  were  ten  on  board  the  little  Biscayan  felucca, 
three  men  in  the  crew,  and  seven  passengers,  two  of 
whom  were  women.  In  the  light  of  the  open  sea  (which 
changes  twilight  into  day)  all  the  figures  on  board  were 
clearly  visible.  Besides,  they  were  not  hiding  now; 
they  were  all  at  ease ;  each  one  resumed  his  natural 
manner,  spoke  in  his  own  voice,  showed  his  face :  de- 
parture was  to  them  a  deliverance. 

The  motley  nature  of  the  group  was  apparent.  The 
women  were  of  an  uncertain  age.  A  wandering  life 
produces  premature  old  age,  and  indigence  is  made  up 
of  wrinkles.  One  of  the  women  was  a  Basque  of  the 
Dry -ports ;  the  other,  with  the  large  rosary,  was  an  Irish 
woman.  They  wore  that  air  of  indifference  common  to 
the  wretched.  They  had  squatted  down  close  to  each 
other  when  they  got  on  board,  on  chests  at  the  foot  of 
the  mast.  They  talked  to  each  other.  Irish  and  Basque 
are,  as  we  have  said,  kindred  languages.  The  Basque 
woman's  hair  was  scented  with  onions  and  basiL     The 


OUR  FIRST  ROUGH  SKETCHES  FILLED  IN.  83 

skipper  of  the  hooker  was  a  Basque  of  Guipuzcoa.  One 
sailor  was  a  Basque  from  the  northern  slope  of  the  Pyr- 
enees ;  the  other  was  from  the  southern  slope,  —  that  is 
to  say,  they  were  of  the  same  race,  although  the  first 
was  French  and  the  latter  Spanish.  The  Basques  ac- 
knowledge no  official  country.  "  My  mother  is  called 
the  mountain, "  1  as  Zalareus,  the  muleteer,  used  to  say. 
Of  the  five  men  on  the  hooker,  one  was  a  Frenchman  of 
Languedoc,  one  a  Frenchman  of  Provence,  one  a  Genoese ; 
one,  the  old  man  who  wore  a  sombrero  without  a  hole  for 
a  pipe,  appeared  to  be  a  German.  The  fifth,  the  chief, 
was  a  Basque  of  the  Landes  from  Biscarrosse.  It  was 
he  who  had  with  a  kick  of  his  heel  cast  the  plank  into 
the  sea  just  as  the  child  was  going  aboard  the  hooker. 
This  man,  robust,  agile,  quick  in  movement,  covered,  as 
may  be  remembered  with  trimmings,  slashings,  and  glis- 
tening tinsel,  could  not  keep  still,  but  sat  down,  rose 
up,  and  continually  walked  to  and  fro  from  one  end  of 
the  vessel  to  the  other,  as  if  debating  uneasily  on  what 
had  been  done  and  what  was  going  to  happen. 

This  chief  of  the  band,  the  captain,  and  the  two  sailors, 
all  four  Basques,  spoke  sometimes  Basque,  sometimes 
Spanish,  sometimes  French,  —  these  three  languages  be- 
ing common  on  both  slopes  of  the  Pyrenees.  But  gener- 
ally speaking,  all  except  the  women  talked  something 
like  French,  which  was  the  foundation  of  their  slang. 
The  French  language,  about  this  period,  began  to  be 
chosen  by  the  peoples  as  a  happy  medium  between  the 
excess  of  consonants  in  the  north  and  the  excess  of 
vowels  in  the  south.  In  Europe,  French  was  the  lan- 
guage of  commerce,  and  also  of  felony.  It  will  be  re- 
membered that  Gibby,  a  London  thief,  understood 
Cartouche. 

The  hooker,  a  fine  sailer,  was  making  rapid  progress  ; 

1  Mi  madre  se  llama  Montana. 


84  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

still,  ten  persons,  besides  their  baggage,  were  a  heavy 
cargo  for  a  vessel  of  such  light  draught. 

The  fact  of  the  vessel's  aiding  the  escape  of  a  band 
did  not  necessarily  imply  that  the  crew  were  accom- 
plices. It  was  sufficient  that  the  captain  of  the  vessel 
was  a  Vascongado,  and  that  the  chief  of  the  band  was 
another.  Among  that  race  mutual  assistance  is  a  duty 
which  admits  of  no  exception.  A  Basque,  as  we  have 
said,  is  neither  Spanish  nor  French ;  he  is  a  Basque,  and 
always  and  everywhere  he  must  succour  a  Basque.  Such 
is  Pyrenean  fraternity. 

While  the  hooker  was  in  the  gulf,  the  sky,  although 
threatening,  did  not  frown  enough  to  cause  the  fugitives 
any  uneasiness.  They  were  flying  swiftly  along,  they 
were  escaping,  and  they  were  noisily  gay.  One  laughed, 
another  sang ;  the  laugh  was  dry  but  free,  the  song  was 
low  but  careless.  The  Languedocian  cried, "  Caoucagno !  " x 
He  was  a  longshore-man,  a  native  of  the  waterside  vil- 
lage of  Gruissan,  on  the  southern  side  of  the  Clappe,  — 
a  bargeman  rather  than  a  mariner,  but  accustomed  to 
navigate  the  inlets  of  Bages,  and  to  draw  the  drag-net 
full  of  fish  over  the  salt  sands  of  St.  Lucie.  He  was  of 
the  race  that  wears  a  red  cap,  makes  complicated  signs 
of  the  cross  after  the  Spanish  fashion,  drinks  wine  out 
of  goat-skins,  eats  scraped  ham,  kneels  down  to  blas- 
pheme, and  adjures  his  patron  saint  with  threats : 
"  Great  saint!  grant  me  what  I  ask,  or  I'll  throw  a  stone 
at  thy  head,  —  ou  te  feg  un  pic  !  "  He  might  at  need 
prove  a  useful  addition  to  the  crew. 

The  Provencal  in  the  caboose  was  punching  a  turf  fire 
under  an  iron  pot,  and  making  broth.  The  broth  was  a 
kind  of  puchero,  in  which  fish  took  the  place  of  meat, 
and  into  which  the  Provencal  threw  peas,  little  bits  of 
bacon  cut  in  squares,  and  pods  of  red  pimento,  —  con- 

1  Cocagne  expresses  the  highest  pitch  of  satisfaction  in  Narbonne. 


OUR  FIRST  ROUGH  SKETCHES  FILLED    IN.  85 

cessions  made  by  the  eaters  of  bouillabaisse  to  the  eaters 
of  olla  podrida.  One  of  the  bags  of  provisions  lay  be- 
side him  unpacked.  Over  his  head  he  had  lighted  an 
iron  lantern,  glazed  with  talc,  which  swung  on  a  hook 
from  the  ceiling ;  near  it  from  another  hook  swung  the 
weather-cock  halcyon.1  While  he  made  the  broth,  the 
Provencal  put  the  neck  of  a  gourd  into  his  mouth,  and 
now  and  then  swallowed  a  draught  of  aguardiente.  It 
was  one  of  those  gourds  covered  with  wicker,  broad  and 
flat,  with  handles,  which  used  to  be  hung  at  the  side  by 
a  strap,  and  which  were  then  called  hip-gourds.  Be- 
tween each  gulp  he  mumbled  one  of  those  country  songs 
about  nothing  in  particular.  One  needs,  to  make  such 
a  song,  no  more  than  to  see  (even  in  imagination)  a  hol- 
low road,  a  hedge ;  in  a  meadow,  through  a  gap  in  the 
bushes,  the  shadow  of  a  horse  and  cart,  elongated  in 
the  sunset,  and  from  time  to  time,  above  the  hedge, 
the  end  of  a  fork  loaded  with  hay  appearing  and 
disappearing. 

According  to  the  state  of  one's  mind,  a  departure  is 
either  a  relief  or  the  reverse.  All  seemed  lighter  in 
spirits  except  the  old  man  of  the  party.  This  old  man, 
who  looked  more  German  than  anything  else,  although 
he  had  one  of  those  unfathomable  faces  in  which  nation- 
ality is  lost,  was  bald ;  and  he  was  so  grave  that  his 
baldness  might  have  been  a  tonsure.  Every  time  he 
passed  the  Virgin  on  the  prow  he  raised  his  felt  hat,  so 
that  you  could  see  the  swollen  and  senile  veins  of  his 
skull.  A  sort  of  full  gown,  torn  and  threadbare,  of 
brown  Dorchester  serge,  half  hid  his  closely  fitting  coat, 
tight,  compact,  and  hooked  up  to  the  neck  like  a  cas- 
sock.    His  hands  seemed  inclined  to  cross  each  other,  as 

1  There  was  a  popular  belief  in  those  days  that  a  dead  halcyon  hung  by 
the  beak  always  turned,  its  breast  to  the  quarter  whence  the  wind  was 
blowing. 


86  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

if  habituated  to  an  attitude  of  prayer.  He  had  what 
might  be  called  a  wan  countenance ;  for  the  countenance 
is  above  all  things  a  reflection,  and  it  is  an  error  to  be- 
lieve that  an  idea  is  colourless.  That  countenance  was 
evidently  the  reflection  of  a  strange  mental  state,  the 
result  of  a  composition  of  contradictions,  —  some  tend- 
ing to  drift  away  in  good,  others  in  evil ;  and  to  an  ob- 
server it  was  the  revelation  of  one  who  was  less  and 
more  than  human,  capable  of  falling  below  the  scale  of 
the  tiger  or  of  rising  above  that  of  man.  Such  chaotic 
souls  exist.  There  was  something  inscrutable  in  this 
old  man's  face.  In  his  impassibility,  which  was  per- 
haps only  on  the  surface,  there  was  portrayed  a  twofold 
petrifaction,  —  the  petrifaction  of  heart  proper  to  the 
hangman,  and  the  petrifaction  of  mind  proper  to  the 
mandarin.  One  might  have  said  (for  the  monstrous  has 
its  mode  of  being  complete)  that  all  things  were  possible 
to  him,  even  emotion.  In  every  savant  there  is  some- 
thing of  the  corpse,  and  this  man  was  a  savant.  One 
saw  science  imprinted  in  the  gestures  of  his  body  and  in 
the  folds  of  his  dress.  His  was  a  fossil  face,  the  serious 
cast  of  which  was  counteracted  by  that  wrinkled  mobil- 
ity of  the  polyglot  which  verges  on  grimace.  But  he 
was  a  severe  man  withal,  —  nothing  of  the  hypocrite, 
nothing  of  the  cynic;  a  tragic  dreamer  also.  He  was 
one  of  those  men  whom  crime  leaves  pensive.  He  had 
the  brow  of  an  incendiary  tempered  by  the  eyes  of  an 
archbishop ;  his  sparse  grey  locks  had  turned  to  white 
over  his  temples.  The  Christian  was  evident  in  him, 
complicated  with  the  fatalism  of  the  Turk.  Chalkstones 
deformed  his  fingers,  which  were  skeleton-like  in  their 
thinness.  The  stiffness  of  his  tall  frame  was  grotesque. 
He  had  his  sea-legs  on ;  he  walked  slowly  about  the 
deck,  not  looking  at  any  one,  with  an  air  at  once  stern 
and  sinister.     His  eyeballs  were  filled  with  the  fixed 


OUR  FIRST  ROUGH  SKETCHES  FILLED  IN.  87 

stare  of  a  soul  groping  in  darkness  and  afflicted  with 
violent  compunctions  of  conscience.  From  time  to  time 
the  chief  of  the  band,  abrupt  and  alert,  and  making 
sudden  turns  about  the  vessel,  came  to  the  old  man  and 
whispered  in  his  ear.  He  answered  with  a  nod.  It 
might  have  been  the  lightning  consulting  the  night. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

TROUBLED  MEN  ON  THE  TROUBLED  SEA. 

TWO  men  on  board  the  craft  were  absorbed  in  thought, 
— the  old  man,  and  the  captain  of  the  hooker,  who 
must  not  be  mistaken  for  the  chief  of  the  band.  The 
captain  was  occupied  by  the  sea;  the  old  man  by  the 
sky.  The  former  did  not  lift  his  eyes  from  the  waters ; 
the  latter  kept  close  watch  of  the  firmament.  The  cap- 
tain's anxiety  was  the  state  of  the  sea;  the  old  man 
seemed  to  distrust  the  heavens.  He  scanned  the  stars 
through  every  break  in  the  clouds. 

It  was  the  hour  when  day  still  lingers,  but  when  a 
few  stars  begin  to  pierce  the  twilight.  The  horizon  was 
singular,  the  mist  upon  it  varied.  A  haze  predominated 
on  land,  clouds  at  sea.  The  captain,  noting  the  rising 
billows,  had  everything  made  taught  before  he  got  outside 
Portland  Bay.  He  would  not  delay  so  doing  until  he 
should  pass  the  headland.  He  examined  the  rigging 
closely,  and  satisfied  himself  that  the  lower  shrouds 
were  well  set  up,  and  that  they  supported  firmly  the  fut- 
tock-shrouds,  —  precautions  of  a  man  who  means  to 
carry  a  press  of  sail  at  all  hazards.  The  hooker  was  not 
trimmed,  being  two  foot  by  the  head ;  this  was  her  weak 
point.  The  captain  passed  every  minute  from  the  bin- 
nacle to  the  standard  compass,  taking  the  bearings  of 
objects  on  shore.  The  "  Matutina  "  had  at  first  a  wind 
which  was  not  unfavourable,  though  she  could  not  lie 
within  five  points  of  her  course.     The  capta-in  took  the 


TROUBLED  MEN  ON  THE  TROUBLED  SEA.     89 

helm  as  often  as  possible,  trusting  no  one  but  himself  to 
prevent  her  from  dropping  to  leeward,  the  effect  of  the 
rudder  being  influenced  by  the  steerage-way. 

The  difference  between  the  true  and  apparent  course 
being  considerable,  the  hooker  seemed  to  lie  closer  to 
the  wind  than  she  really  did.  The  breeze  was  not 
a-beam,nor  was  the  hooker  close-hauled;  but  one  cannot 
ascertain  the  true  course  made,  except  when  the  wind  is 
abaft.  When  one  perceives  long  streaks  of  clouds  meet- 
ing in  a  point  on  the  horizon,  one  may  be  sure  that  the 
wind  is  in  that  quarter.  But  this  evening  the  wind  was 
variable ;  the  needle  fluctuated.  The  captain  distrusted 
the  erratic  movements  of  the  vessel.  He  steered  care- 
fully but  resolutely,  luffed  her  up,  watched  her  coming- 
to,  prevented  her  from  yawing  and  from  running  into 
the  winds'  eye;  noted  the  leeway,  the  little  jerks  of  the 
helm ;  was  observant  of  every  roll  and  pitch  of  the  ves- 
sel, of  the  difference  in  her  speed,  and  of  the  variable 
gusts  of  wind.  For  fear  of  accidents,  he  was  constantly 
on  the  lookout  for  squalls  from  off  the  land  he  was  hug- 
ging ;  and  above  all  he  was  cautious  to  keep  her  sails 
full,  —  the  indications  of  the  compass  being  uncertain 
from  the  small  size  of  the  instrument.  The  captain's 
eyes,  frequently  lowered,  remarked  every  change  in  the 
waves.  Once,  however,  he  raised  them  towards  the  sky, 
and  tried  to  make  out  the  three  stars  of  Orion's  belt. 
These  stars  are  called  the  three  magi,  and  an  old  proverb 
of  the  ancient  Spanish  pilots  declares  that,  "  He  who 
sees  the  three  magi  is  not  far  from  the  Saviour. " 

This  glance  of  the  captain  tallied  with  an  aside 
growled  out,  at  the  other  end  of  the  vessel,  by  the  old 
man :  "  We  don't  even  see  the  pointers,  nor  the  star 
Antares,  red  as  he  is.     Not  one  of  them  is  visible. " 

No  fears  troubled  the  other  fugitives.  Still,  when  the 
first  hilarity  they  felt  at  their  escape  had  passed  away, 


90  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

they  could  not  help  remembering  that  they  were  at  sea 
in  the  month  of  January,  and  that  the  wind  was  freez- 
ing cold.  It  was  impossible  to  establish  themselves  in 
the  cabin ;  it  was  much  too  narrow  and  too  encumbered 
with  bales  and  baggage.  The  baggage  belonged  to  the 
passengers,  the  bales  to  the  crew;  for  the  hooker  was 
no  pleasure-boat,  and  was  engaged  in  smuggling.  The 
passengers  were  obliged  to  remain  on  deck,  a  state  of 
things  to  which  these  wanderers  easily  resigned  them- 
selves. Open-air  habits  make  it  easy  for  vagabonds  to 
settle  themselves  for  the  night.  The  open  air  (la  belle 
Uoile)  is  their  friend,  and  the  cold  helps  them  to 
sleep,  —  sometimes  to  die.  But  to-night,  as  we  have 
seen,  there  was  no  belle  etoile. 

The  Languedocian  and  the  Genoese,  while  waiting  for 
supper,  rolled  themselves  up  near  the  women,  at  the 
foot  of  the  mast,  in  some  tarpaulins  which  the  sailors 
had  thrown  them.  The  old  man  remained  at  the  bow 
motionless,  and  apparently  insensible  to  the  cold.  The 
captain  of  the  hooker,  from  the  helm  where  he  was 
standing,  uttered  a  sort  of  guttural  call  somewhat  like 
the  cry  of  the  American  bird  called  the  Exclaimer.  At 
his  call  the  chief  of  the  band  drew  near,  and  the  cap- 
tain addressed  him  thus  :  — 

"  Etcheco  jauna. "  These  two  words,  which  mean 
"  tiller  of  the  mountain, "  form  with  these  old  Cantabri 
a  solemn  preface  to  any  subject  which  should  command 
attention.  Then,  the  captain  having  pointed  the  old 
man  out  to  the  chief,  the  dialogue  continued  in  Spanish ; 
though  it  was  not  a  very  correct  dialect,  being  that  of 
the  mountains.     Here  are  the  questions  and  answers : 

"  Etcheco  jauna,  que  es  este  hombre  ?  " 

■  Un  hombre. " 

"  Que  lenguas  habla  ?  " 

■  Todas. " 


TROUBLED  MEN  ON  THE  TROUBLED  SEA.  91 

"  Que  cosas  sabe  ?  " 

■  Todas. " 

"  Qual  pais  ?  " 

"  Ningun,  y  todoa  " 

■  Qual  dios  ?  " 
"  Dios. " 

"  Como  le  llamas  ?  * 

■  El  tonto. " 

"  Como  dices  que  le  llamas  ?  * 

■  El  sabio. " 

"  En  vuestre  tropa  que  esta  ?  " 

■  Esta  lo  que  esta. " 
"Elgefe?" 
"No." 

■  Pues  que  esta  ?  " 
"  La  alma.  "  l 

The  chief  and  the  captain  parted,  each  to  continue  his 
own  meditation,  and  a  little  while  afterwards  the 
•  Matutina  "  left  the  gulf. 


»  "  Tiller  of  the  mountain,  who  is  that  man  !  * 
"A  man." 

"  What  tongue  does  he  speak  1 " 
"All." 

"  What  things  does  he  know  1 " 
"All." 

"  What  is  his  country  ?  " 
"  None  and  all." 
"Who  is  his  God?" 
"God." 

"  What  do  you  call  him  ?  " 
"The  madman." 

"  What  do  you  say  you  call  him  f  • 
"The  wise  man." 
"  In  your  hand,  what  is  he  1 " 
"  He  is  what  he  i»." 
«  The  chief  *" 
"No." 

"Then  what  is  he  1" 
-TheaouL'' 


92  THE  MAN   WHO  LAUGHS. 

Now  came  the  great  rolling  of  the  open  sea.  The 
ocean  in  the  spaces  between  the  foam  was  slimy  in  ap- 
pearance. The  waves  seen  through  the  twilight  in 
indistinct  outline  somewhat  resembled  splashes  of  gall. 
Here  and  there  a  level  space  between  the  waves  showed 
cracks  and  stars,  like  a  pane  of  glass  broken  by  stones ; 
and  in  the  centre  of  these  stars,  as  in  a  revolving  orifice, 
trembled  a  phosphorescent  gleam,  like  that  feline  reflec- 
tion of  vanished  light  which  shines  in  the  eyeballs  of 
owls. 

Proudly,  like  a  strong,  bold  swimmer,  the  "  Matu- 
tina "  crossed  the  dangerous  Shambles  shoal.  This 
bank,  a  hidden  obstruction  at  the  entrance  of  Portland 
roads,  is  not  a  barrier  but  an  amphitheatre,  its  benches 
cut  out  by  the  circling  of  the  waves.  An  arena,  round 
and  symmetrical,  as  high  as  a  Jungfrau,  only  submerged ; 
an  oceanic  coliseum,  seen  by  the  diver  in  the  vision-like 
transparency  which  ingulfs  him, —  such  is  the  Shambles 
shoal.  There  hydras  fight,  leviathans  meet.  There, 
says  the  legend,  at  the  bottom  of  the  gigantic  shaft,  are 
the  wrecks  of  ships,  seized  and  sunk  by  the  huge  Kraken, 
also  known  as  the  devil-fish.  These  spectral  realities, 
unknown  to  man,  are  indicated  at  the  surface  only  by  a 
slight  ripple. 

In  this  nineteenth  century  the  Shambles  bank  is  in 
ruins ;  the  breakwater  recently  constructed  has  over- 
thrown and  mutilated,  by  the  force  of  its  surf,  that 
high  submarine  structure,  just  as  the  jetty  built  at 
the  Croisic  in  1760  changed,  by  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
the  courses  of  the  tides.  And  yet  the  tide  is  eternal. 
But  eternity  is  more  subservient  to  man  than  man 
imagines. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

A  CLOUD  DIFFERENT  FROM  THE  OTHERS  ENTERS  ON 
THE  SCENE. 

THE  old  man  whom  the  chief  of  the  band  had  called 
first  the  Madman,  then  the  Sage,  now  never  left 
the  forecastle.  Since  they  crossed  the  Shambles  shoal, 
his  attention  had  been  divided  between  the  heavens  and 
the  waters.  He  looked  down,  he  looked  upwards,  and 
above  all  watched  the  northeast.  The  captain  gave  the 
helm  to  a  sailor,  stepped  over  the  aft  hatchway,  crossed 
the  gangway,  and  went  on  to  the  forecastle.  He  ap- 
proached the  old  man,  but  not  from  the  front ;  he  passed 
a  little  behind  him,  with  elbows  resting  on  his  hips, 
with  outstretched  hands,  his  head  on  one  side,  with  open 
eyes  and  arched  eyebrows,  and  a  smile  in  the  corners  of 
his  mouth,  —  an  attitude  of  curiosity  hesitating  between 
mockery  and  respect.  The  old  man,  either  because  it 
was  his  habit  to  talk  to  himself,  or  because  hearing 
some  one  behind  him  incited  him  to  speech,  began  to 
soliloquize  while  he  looked  into  space :  — 

"  The  Meridian  from  which  the  right  ascension  is  cal- 
culated is  marked  in  this  century  by  four  stars,  —  the 
Polar,  Cassiopeia's  Chair,  Andromeda's  Head,  and  the 
star  Algenib,  which  is  in  Pegasus.  But  not  one  of  them 
is  visible. " 

These  words  followed  one  another  mechanically,  and 
were  scarcely  articulated,  as  if  he  did  not  care  to  pro- 
nounce them.  They  floated  out  of  his  mouth  and  dis- 
persed. Soliloquy  is  the  smoke  exhaled  by  the  inmost 
fires  of  the  souL 


94  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

The  captain  broke  in :  "  Senor !  " 

The  old  man,  perhaps  rather  deaf  as  well  as  very 
thoughtful,  went  on :  "  Too  few  stars,  and  too  much 
wind.  The  breeze  continually  changes  its  direction  and 
blows  inshore ;  thence  it  rises  perpendicularly.  This 
results  from  the  land  being  warmer  than  the  water. 
Its  atmosphere  is  lighter.  The  cold,  dense  wind  of  the 
sea  rushes  in  to  replace  it.  From  this  cause,  in  the 
upper  regions  the  wind  blows  towards  the  land  from 
every  quarter.  It  would  be  advisable  to  make  long  tacks 
between  the  real  and  apparent  parallel.  When  the  lati- 
tude by  observation  differs  from  the  latitude  by  dead 
reckoning,  by  not  more  than  three  minutes  in  thirty 
miles  or  by  four  minutes  in  sixty  miles,  you  are  in  the 
true  course. " 

The  captain  bowed,  but  the  old  man  saw  him  not 
The  latter,  who  wore  what  resembled  an  Oxford  or  Got- 
tingen  university  gown,  did  not  relax  his  haughty  and 
rigid  attitude.  He  observed  the  waters  as  a  critic  of 
waves  and  of  men.  He  studied  the  billows,  but  almost 
as  if  he  was  about  to  demand  his  turn  to  speak  amidst 
their  turmoil,  and  teach  them  something.  There  was  in 
him  both  pedagogue  and  soothsayer.  He  seemed  an  ora- 
cle of  the  deep.  He  continued  his  soliloquy,  which  was 
perhaps  intended  to  be  heard  :  — 

"  We  might  try,  if  we  had  a  wheel  instead  of  a  helm. 
With  a  speed  of  twelve  miles  an  hour,  a  force  of  twenty 
pounds  exerted  on  the  wheel  produces  three  hundred 
thousand  pounds'  effect  on  the  course.  And  more,  too; 
for  in  some  cases,  with  a  double  block  and  runner,  they 
can  get  two  more  revolutions.  " 

The  captain  bowed  a  second  time,  and  said,  "  Senor !  " 

The  old  man's  eye  rested  on  him;  he  had  turned  his 
head  without  moving  his  body.     "  Call  me  Doctor.  " 

"  Master  Doctor,  I  am  the  captain. " 


A  DIFFERENT  CLOUD  ENTERS  ON  THE  SCENE.         95 

"  Just  so, "  said  the  doctor.  The  doctor,  as  hencefor- 
ward we  shall  call  him,  appeared  willing  to  converse : 
"  Captain,  have  you  an  English  sextant  ?  " 

"  No. " 

"  Without  an  English  sextant  you  cannot  take  an  alti- 
tude at  all. " 

"  The  Basques, "  replied  the  captain,  "  took  altitudes 
before  there  were  any  English. " 

"  Be  careful  you  are  not  taken  aback. " 

"  I  keep  her  away  when  necessary. " 

"  Have  you  tried  how  many  knots  she  is  running  ?  " 

"  Yes.  ■ 

"  When  ?  ■ 

"  Just  now. " 

"  How  ? " 

"  By  the  log.  " 

"  Did  you  take  the  trouble  to  look  at  the  triangle  ?  * 

"  Yes. " 

"  Did  the  sand  run  through  the  glass  in  exactly  thirty 
seconds  ? " 

"  Yes. " 

"  Are  you  sure  that  the  sand  has  not  worn  the  hole 
between  the  globes  ?  " 

"  Yes. " 

"  Have  you  proved  the  sand-glass  by  the  oscillations 
of  a  bullet  ?  " 

"  Suspended  by  a  rope-yarn  drawn  out  from  the  top  of 
a  coil  of  soaked  hemp  ?     Undoubtedly.  " 

"  Have  you  waxed  the  yarn  lest  it  should  stretch  ?  " 

"  Yes. " 

"  Have  you  tested  the  log  ?  " 

"  I  tested  the  sand-glass  by  the  bullet,  and  checked 
the  log  by  a  round  shot. " 

"  Of  what  size  was  the  shot  ?  " 

*  One  foot  in  diameter. " 


96  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

"  Heavy  enough !  " 

"  It  is  an  old  round  shot  of  our  war-hooker,  '  La  Casse 
de  Par-Grand. '  " 

"  Which  was  in  the  Armada  ?  " 
"  Yes. " 

*  And  which  carried  six  hundred  soldiers,  fifty  sailors, 
and  twenty-five  guns?  " 

"  Shipwreck  knows  it.  " 

"  How  did  you  compute  the  resistance  of  the  water  to 
the  shot  ?  " 

"  By  means  of  a  German  scale.  " 

"  Have  you  taken  into  account  the  resistance  of  the 
rope  supporting  the  shot  to  the  waves  ?  " 

"  Yes. " 

"  What  was  the  result  ?  " 

"  The  resistance  of  the  water  was  one  hundred  and 
seventy  pounds. " 

"  That's  to  say,  she  is  running  four  French  leagues  an 
hour. " 

"  And  three  Dutch  leagues.  " 

"  But  that  is  the  difference  merely  of  the  vessel's  way 
and  the  rate  at  which  the  sea  is  running  ?  " 

u  Undoubtedly. " 

"  Whither  are  you  steering  ?  * 

"  For  a  creek  I  know,  between  Loyola  and  St. 
Sebastian. " 

"  Make  the  latitude  of  the  harbour's  mouth  as  soon  as 
possible. " 

"  Yes,  as  near  as  I  can.  " 

*  Beware  of  gusts  and  currents.  The  first  cause  the 
second.  " 

"  Yes :  the  traitors !  " 

"  No  abuse !  The  sea  understands.  Insult  nothing ; 
be  satisfied  with  watching.  " 

■  I  have  watched,  and  I  am  still  watching.     Just  now 


A  DIFFERENT  CLOUD  ENTERS  ON  THE  SCENE.         97 

the  tide  is  running  against  the  wind ;  by-and-by,  when 
it  turns,  we  shall  be  all  right.  " 

"  Have  you  a  chart  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  for  this  channel.  " 

"  Then  you  sail  by  rule  of  thumb  ? " 

"  Not  at  all.     I  have  a  compass.  " 

"  The  compass  is  one  eye,  the  chart  the  other. " 

"  A  man  with  one  eye  can  see.  " 

"  How  do  you  compute  the  difference  between  the  true 
and  apparent  course  ?  " 

"  I  've  got  my  standard  compass,  and  I  make  a  guess.  " 

"  To  guess  is  all  very  well.  To  know  for  a  certainty 
is  better. " 

"  Christopher *  guessed.  " 

"  When  there  is  a  fog  and  the  needle  revolves  treach- 
erously, you  can  never  tell  on  which  side  you  should 
look  out  for  squalls ;  and  the  end  of  it  is  that  you  know 
neither  the  real  nor  apparent  day's  work.  An  ass  with 
his  chart  is  better  off  than  a  wizard  with  his  oracle. " 

"  There  is  no  fog  yet,  and  I  see  no  cause  for  alarm.  " 

■  Ships  are  like  flies  in  the  spider's  web  of  the  sea. " 

"  Just  now  both  winds  and  waves  are  tolerably 
favourable. " 

"  Black  specks  quivering  on  the  billows,  —  such  are 
men  on  the  ocean. " 

"  I  dare  say  there  will  be  nothing  wrong  to-night. " 

"  You  may  get  into  a  mess  that  you  will  find  it  hard 
to  get  out  of. " 

"  Yes ;  but  all  goes  well  at  present.  " 

The  doctor's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  northeast.  The 
captain  continued :  — 

"  Let  us  once  reach  the  Gulf  of  Gascony,  and  I  can 
answer  for  our  safety.  Ah,  I  am  at  home  there !  I 
know  it  well,  my  Gulf  of  Gascony !     It  is  a  little  basin, 

1  Columbus. 

TOL.  XIX.  —  7 


98  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

often  very  boisterous ;  but  there  I  know  every  sounding 
and  the  nature  of  the  bottom,  —  mud  opposite  San  Cip- 
riano,  shells  opposite  Cizarque,  sand  off  Cape  Pefias,  little 
pebbles  off  Boncaut  de  Mimizan ;  and  I  know  the  colour 
of  every  pebble. " 

The  captain  broke  off;  the  doctor  was  no  longer  lis- 
tening. He  was  gazing  at  the  northeast.  Over  that  icy 
face  passed  an  extraordinary  expression.  All  the  agony 
of  terror  possible  to  a  mask  of  stone  was  depicted  there. 
From  his  mouth  escaped  the  word,  "  Ha !  " 

His  eyes  were  dilated  with  horror  as  he  perceived  a 
speck  on  the  horizon.  Then  he  added,  under  his  breath, 
"  It  is  well.     As  for  me,  I  do  not  object.  " 

The  captain  looked  at  him. 

The  doctor  went  on  talking  to  himself,  or  to  some  one 
in  the  deep :  "  Yes,  I  say. "  Then  he  was  silent,  and 
fixed  his  eyes  with  renewed  attention  on  that  which  he 
was  watching,  and  said :  "  It  is  coming  from  afar  off, 
but  it  will  come  none  the  less  surely. " 

The  arc  of  the  horizon  which  engrossed  the  visual  orbs 
and  thoughts  of  the  doctor,  being  opposite  to  the  west, 
was  illuminated  by  the  transcendent  reflection  of  twi- 
light, as  if  it  were  day.  This  arc,  limited  in  extent, 
and  surrounded  by  streaks  of  greyish  vapour,  was  uni- 
formly blue,  but  of  a  leaden  rather  than  cerulean  blue. 
The  doctor  pointed  to  this  atmospheric  arc,  and  said : 

"  Captain,  do  you  see  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  That ' 

"What?* 

'  Out  there. " 

"  A  blue  spot  ?    Yes. " 

0  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  An  opening  in  the  heavens.  * 

*  For  those  who  go  to  heaven ;  for  those  who  go  else- 


A  DIFFERENT  CLOUD  ENTERS  ON  THE  SCENE.  99 

where  it  is  another  affair, " —  and  the  doctor  emphasized 
these  enigmatical  words  with  an  appalling  expression 
which  was  unseen  in  the  darkness. 

A  silence  ensued.  The  captain,  remembering  the  two 
names  given  by  the  chief  to  this  man,  asked  himself  the 
question  :  "  Is  he  a  madman,  or  is  he  a  sage  ?  " 

The  stiff  and  bony  finger  of  the  doctor  continued  to 
point,  like  a  sign-post,  to  the  dark  spot  in  the  sky. 

The  captain  looked  at  this  spot.  "In  truth,"  he 
growled  out,  "  it  is  not  sky,  but  clouds. " 

"  A  blue  cloud  is  worse  than  a  black  cloud, "  said  the 
doctor;  "  and  it's  a  snow-cloud,"  he  added. 

"  La  nube  de  la  nieve, "  said  the  captain,  as  if  trying 
to  understand  the  word  better  by  translating  it. 

"  Do  you  know  what  a  snow-cloud  is  ? "  asked  the  doctor. 

"No." 

"  You'll  know  by-and-by.  " 

The  captain  again  turned  his  attention  to  the  horizon. 
Continuing  to  observe  the  cloud,  he  muttered  between 
his  teeth :  — 

"  One  month  of  squalls,  another  of  wet ;  January  with 
ite  gales,  February  with  its  rains,  —  that  's  all  the  win- 
ter we  Asturians  get.  Our  rain  even  is  warm.  We  've 
no  snow  but  on  the  mountains.  Ay,  ay,  look  out  for 
the  avalanche.  The  avalanche  is  no  respecter  of  per- 
sons ;  the  avalanche  is  a  brute.  " 

"  And  the  water-spout  is  a  monster, "  said  the  doctor, 
adding,  after  a  pause,  "  here  it  comes.  "  He  continued : 
"  Several  winds  are  getting  together,  —  a  strong  wind 
from  the  west,  and  a  gentle  wind  from  the  east.  * 

"  That  last  is  a  deceitful  one, "  said  the  captain. 

The  blue  cloud  was  growing  larger.  "  If  the  snow, " 
said  the  doctor,  "  is  appalling  when  it  slips  down  the 
mountain,  think  what  it  is  when  it  falls  from  the  Pole !  " 
His  eye  was  glassy.     The  cloud  seemed  to  spread  over 


100  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

his  face  and  almost  simultaneously  over  the  horizon. 
He  continued,  in  musing  tones :  "  Every  minute  the 
fatal  hour  draws  nearer.  The  will  of  Heaven  is  about 
to  be  manifested. " 

The  captain  again  asked  himself  this  question,  "  Is  he 
a  madman  ?  " 

"  Captain, "  began  the  doctor,  without  taking  his  eyes 
off  the  cloud,  "  have  you  often  crossed  the  Channel  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  first  time.  " 

■  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  Master  Doctor,  my  usual  cruise  is  to  Ireland.  I 
sail  from  Fontarabia  to  Black  Harbour,  or  to  the  Achill 
Islands.  I  go  sometimes  to  Braich-y-Pwll,  a  point  on 
the  Welsh  coast.  But  I  always  steer  outside  the  Scilly 
Islands.     I  do  not  know  this  sea  at  all.  " 

"  That 's  unfortunate.  Woe  to  him  who  is  inexperi- 
enced on  the  ocean !  One  ought  to  be  familiar  with  the 
Channel:  the  Channel  is  the  Sphinx.  Look  out  for 
shoals. " 

"  We  are  in  twenty -five  fathoms  of  water  here.  " 

"  We  ought  to  get  into  fifty-five  fathoms  to  the  west, 
and  avoid  even  twenty  fathoms  to  the  east. " 

"  We  '11  sound  as  we  get  on. " 

■  The  Channel  is  not  an  ordinary  sea.  The  water  rises 
fifty  feet  with  the  spring  tides,  and  twenty-five  with 
neap  tides.  Here  we  are  in  slack  water.  I  thought  you 
looked  scared. " 

■  We  '11  sound  to-night.  " 

"  To  sound  you  must  heave-to,  and  that  you  cannot  da  " 

■  Why  not  ?  " 

"  On  account  of  the  wind. * 
"  We  '11  try.  " 

"  The  squall  is  close  upon  us.  * 
"  We  '11  sound,  Master  Doctor.  " 
*  You  could  not  even  bring-to.  " 


A  DIFFERENT  CLOUD  ENTERS  ON  THE  SCENE.       101 

*  Trust  in  God.  " 

*  Take  care  what  you  say.  Do  not  utter  that  dread 
name  lightly. " 

■  I  will  sound,  I  tell  you.  " 

"  Be  sensible ;  you  will  have  a  gale  of  wind  presently.  " 

"  I  say  that  I  will  try  for  soundings. " 

"  The  resistance  of  the  water  will  prevent  the  lead 
from  sinking,  and  the  line  will  break.  Ah,  so  this  is 
your  first  experience  in  these  waters  ?  " 

*  My  first. " 

"  Very  well ;  in  that  case  listen,  Captain.  " 

The  tone  of  the  word  "  listen  *  was  so  commanding 

that  the  captain  made  an  obeisance :  "  Master  Doctor, 

I  am  all  attention. " 

"  Port  your  helm,  and  haul  up  on  the  starboard  tack. " 

■  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Direct  your  course  westward. " 
"  Caramba  !  " 

"  Direct  your  course  westward.  * 
"  Impossible !  " 

"  As  you  will.     What  I  tell  you  is  for  the  sake  of 
the  others.     As  for  myself,  I  am  indifferent.  " 
"  But,  Master  Doctor,  steer  west  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Captain. " 

"  The  wind  will  be  dead  against  us.  " 
"  Yes,  Captain. " 
"  She  '11  pitch  like  the  devil.  " 
"  Moderate  your  language.     Yes,  Captain. " 
"  The  vessel  would  be  in  irons.  " 
"  Yes,  Captain. " 

"  That  means  very  likely  the  mast  will  go. " 
"  Possibly. " 

*  And  yet  you  wish  me  to  steer  westward  ?  " 
"  Yes. " 

"  I  cannot. " 


102  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS.; 

■  In  that  case  settle  your  reckoning  with  the  sea.  * 
"  The  wind  ought  to  change.  " 

"  It  will  not  change  to-night.  " 
"Why  not?" 

"  Because  it  is  a  wind  twelve  hundred  leagues  in 
length.  * 

"  Make  headway  against  such  a  wind  ?    Impossible !  * 

"  Steer  westward,  I  tell  you.  " 

"  I  '11  try ;  but  in  spite  of  everything  she  will  fall  of£  " 

"  That 's  the  danger.  " 

"  The  wind  is  driving  us  towards  the  east. " 

"  Don't  go  to  the  east.  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Captain,  do  you  know  what  is  sure  death  for  us  ?  * 

"No." 

■  Death  is  the  east.  * 
"  I  '11  steer  west.  " 

This  time  the  doctor,  having  turned  right  round, 
looked  the  captain  full  in  the  face,  and  with  his  eyes 
resting  on  him,  as  though  to  implant  the  idea  in  his 
head,  pronounced  slowly,  syllable  by  syllable,  these 
words :  "  If  to-night  out  at  sea  we  hear  the  sound  of  a 
bell,  the  ship  is  lost.  " 

The  captain  pondered  in  amaze  :  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

The  doctor  did  not  answer.  His  countenance  so  ex- 
pressive a  moment  before  was  now  reserved.  His  eyes 
became  vacuous;  he  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  captain's 
wondering  question.  He  was  now  engrossed  by  his  own 
thoughts.  His  lips  let  fall,  as  if  mechanically,  in  a  low 
murmuring  tone,  these  words :  "  The  time  has  come  for 
sullied  souls  to  purify  themselves.  " 

The  captain  elevated  his  chin  scornfully.  "  He  is 
more  madman  than  sage, "  he  growled,  as  he  moved  off. 
Nevertheless  he  steered  westward. 

But  both  the  wind  and  the  sea  were  increasing. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HARDQUANONNK 

THE  appearance  of  the  clouds  was  becoming  ominoui. 
In  the  west  as  in  the  east  the  sky  was  now  nearly 
covered  with  dark,  angry  clouds,  which  were  rapidly 
advancing  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind.  These  contradic- 
tions are  part  of  the  wind's  vagaries.  The  sea,  which 
had  been  clothed  in  scales  a  moment  before,  now  wore  a 
skin,  —  for  such  is  the  nature  of  this  aquatic  monster. 
It  was  no  longer  a  crocodile,  it  was  a  boa-constrictor. 
Its  lead-coloured  skin  looked  immensely  thick,  and  was 
crossed  by  heavy  wrinkles.  Here  and  there,  on  its  sur- 
face, bubbles  of  froth,  like  pustules,  gathered  and  then 
burst.  The  foam  was  like  leprosy.  It  was  at  this 
moment  that  the  hooker,  still  seen  from  afar  by  the 
child,  lighted  her  signal. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed.  The  captain  looked 
around  for  the  doctor ;  he  was  no  longer  on  deck.  Di- 
rectly the  captain  left  him,  the  doctor  bent  his  some- 
what ungainly  form  and  entered  the  cabin,  where  he  sat 
down  near  the  stove,  on  a  block.  He  took  a  shagreen 
ink-bottle  and  a  cordwain  pocket-book  from  his  pocket ; 
extracted  from  the  pocket-book  a  parchment  folded  four 
times,  old,  stained,  and  yellow;  opened  the  sheet,  took 
a  pen  out  of  his  ink-case,  laid  the  pocket-book  flat  on 
his  knee  and  the  parchment  on  the  pocket-book,  and  by 
the  rays  of  the  lantern,  which  was  lighting  the  cook, 
set  to  writing  on  the  back  of  the  parchment.     Though 


104  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

the  rolling  of  the  waves  inconvenienced  him,  he  wrote 
on  thus  for  some  time. 

As  he  wrote,  the  doctor  noticed  the  gourd  of  aguar- 
diente, which  the  Provencal  tasted  every  time  he  added 
a  grain  of  pimento  to  the  puchero,  as  if  he  were  consult- 
ing  with  reference  to  the  seasoning.  The  doctor  noticed 
the  gourd,  not  because  it  was  a  flask  of  brandy,  but  be- 
cause of  a  name  which  was  plaited  in  the  wicker-work, 
with  red  rushes  on  a  white  background.  There  was 
light  enough  in  the  cabin  to  permit  of  his  reading  the 
name.  The  doctor  paused  and  spelled  it  in  a  low  voice : 
"  Hardquanonne.  "     Then  he  addressed  the  cook  :  — 

"  I  never  observed  this  gourd  before ;  did  it  belong  to 
Hardquanonne  1  " 

"  Yes, "  the  cook  answered,  —  "to  our  poor  comrade, 
Hardquanonne. " 

"  To  Hardquanonne,  the  Fleming  of  Flanders  ? " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  The  same  who  is  in  prison  ?  " 

"  Yes. " 

"  In  the  dungeon  at  Chatham  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  his  gourd, "  replied  the  cook.  "He  is  a 
friend  of  mine,  and  I  keep  it  in  remembrance  of  him. 
When  shall  we  see  him  again  ?  It  is  the  bottle  he  used 
to  wear  slung  over  his  hip. " 

The  doctor  took  up  his  pen  again,  and  continued  labo- 
riously tracing  somewhat  straggling  lines  on  the  parch- 
ment. He  was  evidently  anxious  that  his  hand-writing 
should  be  very  legible.  At  last,  notwithstanding  the 
tremulousness  of  the  vessel  and  the  tremulousness  of 
age,  he  finished  what  he  wanted  to  write. 

It  was  time ;  for  suddenly  a  sea  struck  the  craft,  a 
mighty  rush  of  waters  besieged  the  hooker,  and  they  felt 
her  break  into  that  fearful  dance  in  which  ships  lead  off 
with  the  tempest 


HARDQUANONNE.  105 

The  doctor  rose  and  approached  the  stove,  meeting 
the  ship's  motion  with  his  knees  dexterously  bent,  dried 
as  best  he  could,  at  the  stove  where  the  pot  was  boiling, 
the  lines  he  had  written,  refolded  the  parchment  in  the 
pocket-book,  and  replaced  the  pocket-book  and  the  ink- 
horn  in  his  pocket. 

The  stove  was  not  the  least  ingenious  piece  of  interior 
economy  in  the  hooker.  It  was  judiciously  isolated,  yet 
the  pot  oscillated  wildly.  The  Provencal  watched  it 
closely. 

"  Fish  broth, "  said  he. 

"  For  the  fishes, "  replied  the  doctor,  as  he  went  oa 
deck  again. 


CHAPTER  VL 

THEY   THINK   THAT   HELP  IS  AT   HAND. 

THROUGH  his  growing  pre-occupation,  the  doctor 
dreamily  reviewed  the  situation ;  and  any  one 
near  him  might  have  heard  these  words  drop  from  his 
lips :  "  Too  much  rolling,  and  not  enough  pitching. " 
Then  he  again  relapsed  into  thought,  as  a  miner  into  his 
shaft.  His  meditation  in  nowise  interfered  with  his 
watch  of  the  sea.  The  contemplation  of  the  sea  is  in 
itself  a  reverie. 

The  travail  of  the  eternally  tortured  waters  was  com- 
mencing. A  wail  of  lamentation  arose  from  the  whole 
main.  Confused  and  ominous  preparations  were  going 
on  in  space.  The  doctor  noted  each  detail,  though  there 
was  no  sign  of  scrutiny  in  his  face.  One  does  not  scru- 
tinize hell.  A  vast  commotion,  as  yet  half  latent,  but 
visible  through  the  turmoils  in  space,  increased  and 
irritated  the  winds,  the  vapours,  and  the  waves  more  and 
more.  Nothing  is  so  logical  and  yet  nothing  appears 
so  erratic  as  the  ocean.  Self-dispersion  is  the  essence  of 
its  sovereignty,  and  one  of  the  elements  of  its  redun- 
dance. The  sea  is  ever  for  or  against.  It  knots,  that  it 
may  unravel  itself;  one  of  its  waves  attacks,  the  other 
relieves.  There  is  nothing  so  truly  wonderful  as  the 
waves.  Who  can  paint  the  alternating  hollows  and 
elevations,  the  heaving  bosoms,  the  majestic  outlines  ? 
Who  can  describe  the  thickets  of  foam,  the  blendings 
of  mountains  and  dreams  ?     The  indescribable  is  every- 


THEY  THINK  THAT  HELP  IS  AT  HAND.  107 

where  there,  in  the  rending,  in  the  frowning,  in  the 
anxiety,  in  the  perpetual  contradiction,  in  the  chiar- 
oscuro, in  the  pendants  of  the  clouds,  in  the  ever-chang- 
ing curves,  in  the  disaggregation  without  rupture,  in  the 
mighty  uproar  caused  by  all  that  overhanging  tumult ! 

The  wind  had  just  veered  around  to  the  north,  and 
its  violence  was  so  favourable  and  useful  in  driving 
them  away  from  England  that  the  captain  of  the  "  Matu- 
tina "  had  made  up  his  mind  to  set  all  sail.  The 
hooker  dashed  through  the  foam  at  a  gallop,  bounding 
from  wave  to  wave  in  a  gay  frenzy.  The  fugitives 
were  delighted,  and  laughed ;  they  clapped  their  hands  ; 
applauded  the  surf,  the  sea,  the  wind,  the  sails,  the 
swift  progress,  the  flight,  all  unmindful  of  the  future. 
The  doctor  seemed  not  to  see  them,  and  dreamed  on. 

Every  vestige  of  day  had  faded  away.  This  was  the 
moment  when  the  child,  watching  from  the  distant  cliff, 
lost  sight  of  the  hooker.  Up  to  that  time  his  gaze  had 
been  riveted  upon  the  vessel.  Did  that  look  exert  any 
influence  over  the  vessel's  fate  ?  When  the  hooker  was 
lost  to  sight  in  the  distance,  and  when  the  child  could 
no  longer  see  aught  of  it,  he  went  north  and  the  ship 
went  south.     Both  were  plunged  in  darkness. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

SUPERHUMAN   HORRORS. 

IT  was  with  wild  rejoicing  and  delight  that  those  on 
board  the  hooker  saw  the  hostile  land  recede  and 
lessen  behind  them.  By  degrees  the  dark  ring  of  ocean 
rose  higher,  dwarfing  in  the  twilight  Portland,  Purbeck, 
Tineham,  Kimmeridge,  the  Matravers,  the  long  lines  of 
dim  cliffs,  and  the  coast  dotted  with  lighthouses.  Eng- 
land disappeared.  The  fugitives  had  now  nothing  around 
them  but  the  sea. 

All  at  onco  the  darkness  became  frightful.  There  was 
no  longer  space ;  the  sky  became  as  black  as  ink,  and 
closed  in  round  the  vessel.  The  snow  began  to  fall 
slowly,  only  a  few  flakes  at  first.  They  might  have 
been  ghosts.  Nothing  else  was  visible.  A  snare  lurked 
in  every  possibility. 

It  is  in  this  cavernous  darkness  that  in  our  climate 
the  Polar  water-spout  makes  its  appearance.  A  great 
muddy  cloud,  resembling  the  belly  of  a  hydra,  hung 
over  the  ocean,  its  livid  base  adhering  to  the  waves 
in  some  places.  Some  of  these  adherences  resembled 
pouches  with  holes,  pumping  up  the  sea,  disgorging 
vapour,  and  refilling  themselves  with  water.  Here  and 
there  these  suctions  raised  cones  of  foam  on  the  sea. 

The  boreal  storm  hurled  itself  on  the  hooker;  the 
hooker  rushed  to  meet  it.  The  squall  and  the  vessel 
met  as  though  tfo  insult  each  other.  In  the  first  mad 
shock  not  a  sail  was  reefed,  not  a  jib  lowered ;  the  mast 


SUPERHUMAN  HORRORS.  109 

creaked  and  bent  back  as  if  in  fear.  Cyclones  in  our 
northern  hemisphere  circle  from  left  to  right,  in  the 
same  direction  as  the  hands  of  a  watch,  with  a  velocity 
which  is  sometimes  as  much  as  sixty  miles  an  hour. 
Although  she  was  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  the  storm, 
the  hooker  behaved  as  if  she  were  out  in  moderate 
weather,  without  any  further  precaution  than  keeping 
her  head  to  the  billows,  with  the  wind  broad  on  the 
bow  so  as  to  avoid  being  caught  broadside  on.  This 
prudential  measure  would  have  availed  her  nothing  in 
case  of  the  wind's  shifting  and  taking  her  aback. 

A  deep  rumbling  sound  was  audible  in  the  distance. 
The  roar  of  ocean, —  what  can  be  compared  to  it?  It  is 
the  great  brutish  howl  of  the  universe.  What  we  call 
matter,  —  that  unsearchable  organism,  that  amalgama- 
tion of  incommensurable  energies,  in  which  can  occa- 
sionally be  detected  an  almost  imperceptible  degree  of 
intention  which  makes  us  shudder;  that  blind,  be- 
nighted cosmos ;  that  enigmatical  Pan,  —  has  a  cry,  a 
strange  cry,  prolonged,  obstinate,  and  continuous,  which 
is  between  speech  and  thunder.  That  cry  is  the  hurri- 
cane. Other  and  different  voices,  songs,  melodies, 
clamours,  tones,  proceed  from  nests,  from  broods,  from 
pairings,  from  nuptials,  from  homes.  This  trumpet- 
blast  comes  out  of  the  Naught,  which  is  All.  Other 
voices  express  the  soul  of  the  universe ;  this  expresses 
its  brute  power.  It  is  the  howl  of  the  formless ;  it  is 
the  inarticulate  uttered  by  the  indefinite ;  it  is  a  thing 
full  of  pathos  and  of  terror.  Those  clamours  resound 
above  and  beyond  man.  They  rise,  fall,  undulate ;  form 
waves  of  sound ;  constitute  all  sorts  of  wild  surprises  for 
the  mind ;  now  burst  close  to  the  ear  with  the  importu- 
nity of  a  peal  of  trumpets,  now  assail  us  with  the 
rumbling  hoarseness  of  distance, —  giddy  uproar  which 
resembles  a  language,  and  which  in  fact  is  a  language 


110  THE  MAN   WHO  LAUGHS. 

It  is  the  effort  which  the  world  makes  to  speak ;  it  is 
the  lisping  of  the  wonderful.  In  this  wail  is  manifested 
vaguely  all  that  the  vast,  dark  palpitation  endures,  suffers, 
accepts,  rejects.  For  the  most  part  it  talks  nonsense ; 
it  is  like  an  attack  of  chronic  sickness.  We  fancy  that 
we  are  witnessing  the  descent  of  supreme  evil  into  the 
infinite.  At  moments  we  seem  to  discern  a  reclamation 
of  the  elements,  some  vain  effort  of  chaos  to  re-assert 
itself  over  creation.  At  times  it  is  a  despairing  moan ; 
the  void  bewails  and  justifies  itself.  It  is  the  pleading 
of  the  world's  cause:  we  can  fancy  that  the  universe  is 
engaged  in  a  law-suit;  we  listen,  we  try  to  grasp  the 
reasons  given,  the  redoubtable  for  and  against.  Such  a 
moaning  among  the  shadows  has  the  tenacity  of  a  syllo- 
gism. Here  is  a  vast  field  for  thought;  here  is  the 
raison  d'etre  of  mythologies  and  polytheisms.  To  the 
terror  of  these  wild  murmurs  are  added  superhuman  out- 
lines melting  away  as  they  appear,  —  Eumenides  which 
are  almost  distinct,  throats  of  furies  shaped  in  the 
clouds,  Plutonian  chimeras  almost  defined.  No  horrors 
can  equal  those  sobs,  those  laughs,  those  tricks  of  tu- 
mult, those  inscrutable  questions  and  answers,  those 
appeals  to  unknown  aid.  Man  is  utterly  bewildered  in 
the  presence  of  that  awful  incantation ;  he  bows  under 
the  enigma  of  those  Draconian  intonations.  "What  la- 
tent meaning  have  they ;  what  do  they  signify ;  what  do 
they  threaten ;  what  do  they  implore  ?  It  would  seem 
as  though  all  bonds  were  loosened.  Vociferations  from 
precipice  to  precipice,  from  air  to  water,  from  wind  to 
wave,  from  rain  to  rock,  from  zenith  to  nadir,  from 
stars  to  foam ;  the  abyss  unmuzzled,  —  such  is  this  tu- 
mult, complicated  by  some  mysterious  contest  with  evil 
consciences. 

The  loquacity  of  night  is  not  less  lugubrious  than  its 
silence.     One  feels  in  it  the  wrath  of  the  unknown. 


SUPERHUMAN  HORRORS.  Ill 

Night  fs  a  presence.  The  presence  of  what  ?  For  that 
matter  we  must  distinguish  between  night  and  the 
shadowy.  In  the  night  there  is  the  absolute;  in  the 
shadowy,  the  multiple.  The  night  is  one,  the  shadowy 
is  made  up  of  many.  In  this  infinite  and  indefinite 
shadowy  lives  something  or  some  one ;  but  that  which 
lives  there  forms  part  of  our  death.  After  our  earthly 
career,  when  the  shadowy  will  be  clear  to  us,  the  life 
which  is  beyond  will  seize  us ;  meanwhile  it  appears  to 
touch  and  try  us.  Obscurity  is  a  pressure.  Night  is, 
as  it  were,  a  hand  placed  on  our  soul ;  at  certain  hideous 
and  solemn  hours  we  feel  that  which  is  beyond  the  wall 
of  the  tomb  encroaching  on  us. 

Never  does  this  proximity  of  the  unknown  seem  more 
imminent  than  in  storms  at  sea.  The  horrible  combines 
with  the  fantastic.  The  possible  interrupter  of  human 
actions,  the  old  Cloud-compeller,  has  it  in  his  power  to 
mould,  in  whatsoever  shape  he  chooses,  the  changing  ele- 
ments, the  wild  incoherence,  and  aimless  force.  That 
mystery  the  tempest  is  ever  accepting  and  executing 
some  unknown  change  of  real  or  apparent  will.  Poets 
in  all  ages  have  called  the  waves  capricious ;  but  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  caprice.  The  disconcerting  enig- 
mas in  Nature  which  we  call  caprice,  and  in  human 
life  chance,  are  the  results  of  unseen  and  incomprehensi- 
ble laws 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

NIX   ET   NOX. 

THE  chief  characteristic  of  the  snow-storm  is  its 
blackness.  Nature 's  habitual  aspect  during  a  storm, 
the  earth  or  sea  black  and  the  sky  pale,  is  reversed  :  the 
sky  is  black,  the  ocean  white ;  foam  below,  darkness 
above,  —  an  horizon  walled  in  with  smoke ;  a  zenith 
roofed  with  crape.  The  tempest  resembles  a  cathedral 
hung  with  mourning;  but  there  is  no  light  in  that 
cathedral,  —  no  phantom  lights  on  the  crests  of  the 
waves,  no  spark,  no  phosphorescence,  naught  but  a  dense 
shadow.  The  polar  cyclone  differs  from  the  tropical 
cyclone,  inasmuch  as  the  one  sets  fire  to  every  light,  and 
the  other  extinguishes  them  all.  The  world  is  suddenly 
converted  into  a  vaulted  cave.  Out  of  the  night  falls 
a  dust  of  pale  spots,  which  hesitate  between  sky  and 
sea.  These  spots,  which  are  flakes  of  snow,  slip,  wander, 
and  float.  It  is  like  the  tears  of  a  winding-sheet  put- 
ting themselves  into  life-like  motion.  A  mad  wind 
mingles  with  this  dissemination.  Blackness  crumbling 
into  whiteness,  the  furious  into  the  obscure,  all  the  tu- 
mult of  which  the  sepulchre  is  capable,  a  whirlwind 
under  a  catafalque,  —  such  is  the  snow-storm.  Under- 
neath trembles  the  ocean,  forming  and  reforming  over 
portentous  depths.  In  the  polar  wind,  which  is  elec- 
trical, the  flakes  turn  suddenly  into  hailstones,  and  the 
air  becomes  filled  with  projectiles ;  the  water  crackles, 
shot  with  grape.     There  are  no  thunder-claps ;  the  light- 


NIX  ET  NOX.  113 

ning  of  boreal  storms  is  silent.  What  is  sometimes  said 
of  the  cat,  "  It  swears, "  may  be  applied  to  this  light- 
ning. It  is  a  menace  proceeding  from  a  mouth  half 
open,  and  strangely  inexorable.  The  snow-storm  is  a 
storm  blind  and  dumb ;  when  it  has  passed,  the  ships 
also  are  often  blind  and  the  sailors  dumb. 

To  escape  from  such  danger  is  difficult.  It  would  be 
wrong,  however,  to  consider  shipwreck  inevitable.  The 
Danish  fishermen  of  Disco  and  the  Balesin ;  the  seekers 
of  black  whales ;  Hearn,  steering  towards  Behring  Strait 
to  discover  the  mouth  of  Coppermine  Eiver;  Hudson, 
Mackenzie,  Vancouver,  Eoss,  Dumont  d'Urville, — all 
underwent  almost  at  the  pole  itself  the  wildest  hurri- 
canes, and  escaped  out  of  them. 

It  was  into  this  description  of  tempest  that  the  hooker 
had  entered,  triumphant  and  under  full  sail.  Frenzy 
against  frenzy.  When  Montgomery,  escaping  from 
Eouen,  drove  his  galley,  with  all  the  force  of  its  oars, 
against  the  chain  barring  the  Seine  at  La  Bouille,  he 
showed  similar  effrontery.  The  "  Matutina  "  sailed  on 
fast;  she  keeled  over  so  much  under  her  sails  that  at 
times  she  was  at  an  angle  of  fifteen  degrees  with  the 
sea ;  but  her  well-rounded  keel  adhered  to  the  water  as 
if  glued  to  it.  The  keel  resisted  the  grasp  of  the  hurri- 
cane ;  the  lantern  at  the  prow  still  cast  its  light  ahead. 
The  clouds  settled  down  more  and  more  upon  the  sea 
around  the  hooker.  Not  a  gull,  not  a  sea-mew,  was  to 
be  seen, —  nothing  but  snow.  The  expanse  of  waves 
was  becoming  contracted  and  terrible  ;  only  three  or  four 
gigantic  billows  were  visible.  Now  and  then  a  tremen- 
dous flash  of  copper-coloured  lightning  broke  out  from 
behind  the  heavy  masses  of  clouds  on  the  horizon  and  in 
the  zenith.  This  sudden  burst  of  vermilion-flame  showed 
the  immense  size  and  blackness  of  the  clouds ;  while  the 
brief  illumination  of  ocean  to  which  the  first  layer  of 

VOL.  XIX.  —  8 


114  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

clouds  and  the  distant  boundaries  of  celestial  chaos 
seemed  to  adhere  plainly  revealed  the  horrors  of  their 
immediate  surroundings.  Against  this  fiery  background, 
the  snow-flakes  looked  so  black  that  they  reminded  one 
of  dark  butterflies  darting  about  in  a  furnace ;  then, 
everything  was  once  more  veiled  in  gloom.  The  first 
explosion  over,  the  squall,  still  in  mad  pursuit  of  the 
hooker,  began  a  savage,  continuous  roar.  Nothing  could 
be  more  appalling  than  this  sort  of  monologue  of  the 
tempest.  The  gloomy  recitative  seems  intended  to  serve 
as  a  momentary  rest  for  the  contending  forces,  —  a  sort 
of  truce  maintained  in  the  mighty  deep. 

The  hooker  held  wildly  on  her  course.  Her  two 
mainsails  especially  were  doing  wonderful  work.  The 
sky  and  sea  were  like  ink  compared  with  the  jets  of 
foam  running  higher  than  the  mast.  Every  instant 
masses  of  water  swept  the  deck  like  a  deluge,  and  at 
each  roll  of  the  vessel  the  hawse-holes  —  now  to  star- 
board, now  to  larboard  —  became  so  many  open  mouths 
vomiting  back  foam  into  the  sea.  The  women  had  taken 
refuge  in  the  cabin,  but  the  men  remained  on  deck ;  the 
blinding  snow  eddied  round,  the  surge  mingling  with 
it. 

At  that  moment  the  chief  of  the  band,  standing  abaft 
and  holding  with  one  hand  to  the  shrouds,  and  with  the 
other  taking  off  the  kerchief  he  wore  round  his  head  and 
waving  it  in  the  light  of  the  lantern,  gay  and  arrogant, 
with  pride  in  his  face,  and  his  hair  in  wild  disorder, 
cried  out,  — 

"  "We  are  free !  " 

"  Free,  free,  free !  "  echoed  the  fugitives,  and  the 
band,  seizing  hold  of  the  rigging,  rose  up  on  deck. 

"  Hurrah !  "  shouted  the  chief. 

And  the  band  shouted  in  the  storm,  "  Hurrah !  " 

Just  as  this  clamour  was  dying  away  in  the  tempest 


NIX  ET  NOX.  115 

a  loud,  solemn  voice  rose  from  the  other  end  of  the  ves- 
sel, saying,  "  Silence !  * 

All  turned  their  heads.  The  darkness  was  thick,  and 
the  doctor  was  leaning  against  the  mast,  so  that  he 
seemed  part  of  it,  and  they  could  not  see  him. 

The  voice  spoke  again  :  "  Listen !  " 

All  were  silent.  They  distinctly  heard  through  the 
darkness  the  tolling  of  a  bell. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   CHARGE   CONFIDED   TO   A  KAGING  SEA. 

THE  captain,  at  the  helm,  burst  out  laughing :  "  A 
bell,  that  's  good !  We  are  on  the  larboard  tack. 
What  does  the  bell  prove  ?  Why,  that  we  have  land  to 
starboard. " 

The  firm  and  measured  voice  of  the  doctor  replied : 
"  You  have  not  land  to  starboard.  " 

"  But  we  have !  "  shouted  the  captain. 

"No!" 

"  But  that  bell  tolls  from  the  land.  " 

"  That  bell,"  said  the  doctor,  "  tolls  from  the  sea. " 

A  shudder  passed  over  these  daring  men ;  the  haggard 
faces  of  the  two  women  appeared  above  the  companion- 
way  like  two  hobgoblins  conjured  up ;  the  doctor  took  a 
step  forward,  separating  his  tall  form  from  the  mast. 
From  the  gloomy  depths  of  night  again  resounded  the 
dreary  tolling  of  the  bell. 

The  doctor  resumed  :  "  Half-way  between  Portland  and 
the  Channel  Islands  there  is  in  the  midst  of  the  sea  a 
buoy,  placed  there  as  a  warning.  The  buoy  is  moored  by 
chains  to  a  rock,  and  floats  on  the  top  of  the  water.  To 
the  buoy  is  affixed  an  iron  trestle,  and  across  the  trestle 
is  hung  a  bell.  In  bad  weather  heavy  seas  toss  the 
buoy,  and  the  bell  rings.      That  is  the  bell  you  hear.  " 

The  doctor,  after  pausing  to  allow  an  unusually  violent 
gust  of  wind  to  subside,  continued :  "  To  hear  that  bell 
in  a  storm,  when  a  nor'-wester  is  blowing,  is  to  be  lost 


THE  CHARGE  CONFIDED  TO  A  RAGING  SEA.  117 

Wherefore  ?  For  this  reason  :  you  hear  the  bell  because 
the  wind  brings  the  sound  to  you.  The  wind  is  blowing 
from  the  northwest,  and  the  rocks  of  Alderney  lie  to  the 
east  of  us.  You  hear  the  bell  only  because  you  are  be- 
tween the  buoy  and  the  breakers.  It  is  upon  those 
rocks  that  the  wind  is  driving  you.  You  are  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  buoy.  If  you  were  on  the  right  side, 
you  would  be  out  at  sea  on  a  safe  course,  and  you  would 
not  hear  the  bell ;  the  wind  would  not  convey  the  sound 
to  you,  — you  might  pass  close  to  the  buoy  without 
knowing  it.  We  are  out  of  our  course.  That  bell  is 
shipwreck  sounding  the  tocsin.     Listen !  " 

As  the  doctor  spoke,  the  bell,  soothed  by  a  lull  of  the 
storm,  rang  out  slowly,  stroke  by  stroke;  and  its  dis- 
mal voice  seemed  to  testify  to  the  truth  of  the  old  man's 
words.  It  was  perhaps  their  death-knell.  All  listened 
breathlessly, — now  to  the  voice,  now  to  the  bell. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   COLOSSAL   SAVAGE,    THE   STORM. 

IN  the  mean  time  the  captain  had  caught  up  his  speak- 
ing-trumpet :  "  Cargate  todo,  hombres !  Let  go  the 
sheets,  man  the  down-hauls,  lower  ties  and  brails !  Let 
us  steer  to  the  west,  let  us  regain  the  high  sea !  Head 
for  the  buoy,  steer  for  the  bell ;  there  's  an  offing  down 
there.     We  've  yet  a  chance.  " 

"  Try, "  said  the  doctor. 

Let  us  remark  here,  by  the  way,  that  this  buoy,  a 
kind  of  bell -tower  on  the  deep,  was  removed  in  1802. 
There  are  yet  alive  very  aged  mariners  who  remember 
hearing  it.     It  forewarned,  but  rather  too  late. 

The  orders  of  the  captain  were  obeyed.  The  Langue- 
docian  made  a  third  sailor.  All  bore  a  hand.  Not  sat- 
isfied with  brailing  up,  they  furled  the  sails;  secured 
the  clew-lines,  bunt-lines,  and  leech-lines ;  clapped  pre- 
ventor-shrouds  on  the  block-straps,  which  thus  might 
serve  as  back-stays.  They  braced  the  mast ;  they  bat- 
tened down  the  ports  and  bulls'  eyes,  which  is  a  method 
of  walling  up  a  ship.  These  evolutions,  though  exe- 
cuted in  a  lubberly  fashion  were  nevertheless  thoroughly 
effective.  The  hooker  was  stripped  to  bare  poles.  But 
in  proportion  as  the  vessel,  stowing  every  stitch  of  can- 
vas, became  more  helpless,  the  havoc  of  both  winds  and 
waves  increased.     The  billows  ran  mountains  high. 


THE  COLOSSAL  SAVAGE,  THE   STORM.  119 

The  hurricane,  like  an  executioner  hastening  to  his 
victim,  began  to  dismember  the  craft.  There  came,  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  a  dreadful  crash ;  the  top-sails 
were  blown  from  the  bolt-ropes,  the  chess-trees  were 
hewn  asunder,  the  deck  was  swept  clear,  the  shrouds 
were  carried  away,  the  mast  went  by  the  board ;  all  the 
lumber  of  the  wreck  was  flying  in  shivers.  The  main 
shrouds  also  succumbed,  although  they  were  turned  in 
and  strongly  stoppered.  The  magnetic  currents  com- 
mon to  snow-storms  hastened  the  destruction  of  the 
rigging ;  it  broke  as  much  from  the  effects  of  these  as 
from  the  violence  of  the  wind.  Most  of  the  chain  gear, 
fouled  in  the  blocks,  ceased  to  work.  The  bows  and 
stern  quivered  under  the  terrific  shocks.  One  wave 
washed  overboard  the  compass  and  its  binnacle ;  a  sec- 
ond carried  away  the  boat,  which  like  a  box  slung  under 
a  carriage  had  been,  in  accordance  with  the  quaint  Astu- 
rian  custom,  lashed  to  the  bowsprit;  a  third  breaker 
wrenched  off  the  sprit-sail  yard;  a  fourth  swept  away 
the  figure-head  and  signal-light.  The  rudder  only  was 
left.  To  replace  the  snip's  bow-lantern  they  set  fire  to, 
and  suspended  at  the  stem,  a  large  block  of  wood  covered 
with  oakum  and  tar.  The  broken  mast,  all  bristling 
with  splinters,  ropes,  blocks,  and  yards,  cumbered  the 
deck ;  in  falling,  it  had  stove  in  a  plank  of  the  starboard 
gunwale.  The  captain,  still  firm  at  the  helm,  shouted  ; 
"  While  we  can  steer,  we  have  a  chance !  The  lower 
planks  hold  good.  Axes,  axes !  Overboard  with  the 
mast !     Clear  the  decks !  " 

Both  crew  and  passengers  worked  with  the  excitement 
of  despair.  A  few  strokes  of  the  hatchets,  and  it  was 
done.  They  pushed  the  mast  over  the  side ;  the  deck 
was  cleared. 

"Now,"  continued  the  captain,  "take  a  rope's  end 
and  lash  me  to  the  helm.  " 


120  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

They  bound  him  to  the  tiller.  While  they  were  fas- 
tening  him  he  laughed,  and  shouted,  — 

"  Bellow,  old  hurdy-gurdy !  bellow !  I  've  seen  your 
equal  off  Cape  Machichaco !  " 

And  when  secured,  he  clutched  the  helm  with  that 
strange  hilarity  which  danger  awakens,  crying  out,  — 

"  All  goes  well,  my  lads !  Long  live  our  Lady  of 
Buglose !     Let  us  steer  west.  " 

An  enormous  wave  came  down  abeam,  and  dashed 
against  the  vessel's  side.  There  is  always  in  storms  a 
tiger-like  wave,  a  billow  fierce  and  decisive,  which  after 
attaining  a  certain  height  creeps  horizontally  over  the 
surface  of  the  waters  for  a  time,  then  rises,  roars,  rages, 
and  falling  on  the  distressed  vessel  tears  it  limb  from 
limb.  A  cloud  of  foam  covered  the  entire  deck  of  the 
"  Matutina.  "  A  loud  noise  was  heard  above  the  confu- 
sion of  darkness  and  waters.  "When  the  spray  cleared 
off,  and  the  stern  again  rose  to  view,  the  captain  and 
the  helm  had  disappeared.  Both  had  been  swept  away. 
The  helm  and  the  man  they  had  but  just  secured  to  it 
had  passed  with  the  wave  into  the  hissing  turmoil  of 
the  hurricane. 

The  chief  of  the  band,  gazing  intently  into  the  dark- 
ness, shouted  :  "  Te  burlas  de  nosotros  ?  " 

To  this  defiant  exclamation  there  followed  another 
cry :  "  Let  go  the  anchor !     Save  the  captain ! " 

They  rushed  to  the  capstan  and  let  go  the  anchor. 
Hookers  carry  but  one.  In  this  case  the  anchor  reached 
the  bottom,  but  only  to  be  lost ;  the  bottom  was  of  the 
hardest  rock.  The  billows  were  raging  with  resistless 
force.  The  cable  snapped  like  a  thread ;  the  anchor  lay 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  At  the  cutwater  there  re- 
mained only  the  cable  end  protruding  from  the  hawse- 
hole.  From  this  moment  the  hooker  became  a  wreck. 
The  "  Matutina  "  was  irrevocably  disabled.     The  vessel, 


THE  COLOSSAL  SAVAGE,  THE  STORM.  121 

just  before  in  full  sail  and  almost  formidable  in  her 
speed,  was  now  helpless ;  all  her  evolutions  were  uncer- 
tain and  executed  at  random ;  she  yielded  passively  and 
like  a  log  to  the  capricious  fury  of  the  waves. 

The  howling  of  the  wind  became  more  and  more 
frightful.  The  bell  on  the  sea  rang  despairingly,  as  if 
tolled  by  a  weird  hand.  The  "  Matutina  "  drifted  like 
a  cork  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves.  She  sailed  no  longer, 
—  she  merely  floated ;  every  moment  she  seemed  about 
to  turn  over  on  her  back,  like  a  dead  fish.  The  good 
condition  and  perfectly  water-tight  state  of  the  hull 
alone  saved  her  from  this  disaster.  Below  the  water- 
line  not  a  plank  had  started ;  there  was  not  a  cranny, 
chink,  nor  crack ;  and  she  had  not  a  single  drop  of  water 
in  the  hold.  This  was  lucky,  as  the  pump,  being  out 
of  order,  was  useless.  The  hooker  pitched  and  rolled 
frightfully  in  the  seething  billows.  The  vessel  had 
throes  as  of  sickness,  and  seemed  to  be  trying  to  belch 
forth  the  unhappy  crew.  Helpless  they  clung  to  the 
rigging,  to  the  transoms,  to  the  shank  painters,  to  the 
gaskets,  to  the  broken  planks  (the  protruding  nails  of 
which  tore  their  hands),  to  the  warped  riders,  and  to  all 
the  rugged  projections  on  the  stumps  of  the  masts. 
From  time  to  time  they  listened :  the  tolling  of  the  bell 
came  over  the  waters  fainter  and  fainter,  —  one  might 
have  supposed  that  too  was  in  distress.  Finally  the 
sound  died  away  altogether. 

Where  were  they,  —  at  what  distance  from  the  buoy  ? 
The  sound  of  the  bell  had  frightened  them ;  its  silence 
terrified  them.  The  northwester  drove  them  forward 
in  perhaps  a  fatal  course.  They  felt  themselves  wafted 
on  by  maddened  and  ever-recurring  gusts  of  wind.  The 
wreck  sped  forward  in  the  darkness.  There  is  nothing 
more    fearful    than   being    hurried    forward    blindfold. 


122  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

They  felt  the  abyss  before  them,  over  them,  under  them. 
It  was  no  longer  a  run,  it  was  a  rush.  Suddenly,  through 
the  appalling  density  of  the  snow-storm,  there  loomed  a 

red  light 

■  A  lighthouse !  "  cried  the  crew. 


CHAPTEK  XL 

THE   CASKETS. 

IT  was  the  Caskets  Light. 
A  lighthouse  of  the  nineteenth  century  is  a  high 
cylinder  of  masonry,  surmounted  by  scientifically  con- 
structed machinery  for  throwing  light.  The  Casket 
lighthouse  in  particular  is  a  white  tower  supporting 
three  light-rooms.  These  three  chambers  revolve  on 
clock-wheels,  with  such  precision  that  the  man  on  watch 
who  sees  them  from  sea  can  invariably  take  ten  steps 
during  their  irradiation,  and  twenty-five  during  their 
eclipse.  Everything  is  based  on  the  focal  plan  and  on 
the  rotation  of  the  octagon  drum,  which  is  formed  of 
eight  wide  simple  lenses  in  range,  having  above  and  be- 
low it  two  series  of  dioptric  rings ;  it  is  protected  from 
the  violence  of  the  winds  and  waves  by  glass  a  milli- 
metre thick,  yet  sometimes  broken  by  the  sea-eagles, 
which  dash  themselves  like  great  moths  against  these 
gigantic  lanterns.  The  building  which  encloses  and 
sustains  this  mechanism,  and  in  which  it  is  set,  is  also 
mathematically  constructed.  Everything  about  it  is 
plain,  exact,  bare,  precise,  correct.  A  lighthouse  is  a 
mathematical  figure. 

In  the  seventeenth  century  a  lighthouse  was  a  sort  of 
ornament  to  the  sea-shore.  The  architecture  of  a  light- 
house tower  was  magnificent  and  extravagant.  It  was 
covered    with    balconies,    balusters,    lodges,     alcoves, 


124  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

weather-cocks,  — nothing  but  masks,  statues,  foliage, 
volutes,  reliefs,  figures  large  and  small,  medallions  with 
inscriptions.  "  Pax  in  bello, "  said  the  Eddystone  light- 
house. (We  may  as  well  observe,  by  the  way,  that  this 
declaration  of  peace  did  not  always  disarm  the  ocean. 
Winstanley  repeated  it  on  a  lighthouse  which  he  con- 
structed at  his  own  expense,  on  a  wild  spot  near  Ply- 
mouth. The  tower  being  finished,  he  shut  himself  up 
in  it  to  have  it  tried  by  the  tempest.  The  storm  came, 
and  carried  off  the  lighthouse  and  Winstanley  in  it.) 
Such  excessive  adornment  afforded  too  great  a  hold  to 
the  hurricane ;  as  generals  too  brilliantly  equipped  in 
battle,  draw  the  enemy's  fire.  Besides  whimsical  de- 
signs in  stone,  they  were  loaded  with  whimsical  designs 
in  iron,  copper,  and  wood.  On  the  sides  of  the  light- 
house there  jutted  out,  clinging  to  the  walls  among  the 
arabesques,  engines  of  every  description,  useful  and  use- 
less, —  windlasses,  tackles,  pullies,  counterpoises,  lad- 
ders, cranes,  grapnels.  On  the  pinnacle  around  th8 
light,  delicately  wrought  iron-work  held  great  iron 
chandeliers,  in  which  were  placed  pieces  of  rope  steeped 
in  resin, —  wicks  which  burned  doggedly,  and  which  no 
wind  extinguished;  and  from  top  to  bottom  the  tower 
was  covered  by  a  complication  of  sea  standards,  bande- 
roles, banners,  flags,  and  pennons,  which  rose  from  stage 
to  stage,  from  story  to  story,  —  a  medley  of  all  hues,  all 
shapes,  all  heraldic  devices,  all  signals,  all  confusion, 
up  to  the  light-chamber,  making  in  the  storm  a  gay  riot 
of  colour  about  the  blaze.  This  insolent  light  on  the 
brink  of  the  abyss  seemed  to  breathe  defiance,  and  in- 
spired shipwrecked  men  with  a  spirit  of  daring. 

But  the  Caskets  Light  was  not  one  of  this  kind.  It 
was  at  that  period  a  primitive  sort  of  lighthouse. 
Henry  I.  built  it  after  the  loss  of  the  "  White  Ship. " 
It  was  an  unpretending  tower  perched  upon  a  rock  and 


THE  CASKETS.  125 

surmounted  with  a  brazier  enclosed  by  an  iron  railing, 
—  a  head  of  hair  flaming  in  the  wind.  The  only  im- 
provement made  in  this  lighthouse  since  the  twelfth 
century  was  a  pair  of  forge-bellows  worked  by  a  pendu- 
lum and  a  stone  weight,  which  had  been  added  to  the 
light-chamber  in  1610. 

The  fate  of  the  sea-birds  that  chanced  to  fly  against 
these  old  lighthouses  was  more  tragic  than  those  of  our 
days.  The  birds  dashed  against  them,  attracted  by  the 
light,  and  fell  into  the  brazier,  where  they  could  be  seen 
struggling  like  black  spirits  in  a  hell ;  at  times  they 
would  fall  back  again  between  the  railings  upon  the 
rock,  smoking,  lame,  blind,  like  half-burnt  flies  out  of 
a  lamp. 

To  a  full-rigged  ship  in  good  trim,  answering  readily 
to  the  pilot's  handling,  the  Caskets  Light  is  useful;  it 
cries,  "  Look  out !  "  It  warns  her  of  the  shoal.  To  a 
disabled  ship  it  is  simply  terrible.  The  hull,  paralyzed 
and  inert,  with  no  defence  against  the  fury  of  the  storm 
or  the  mad  heaving  of  the  waves,  —  a  fish  without  fins, 
a  bird  without  wings,  —  can  but  go  where  the  wind 
wills.  The  lighthouse  reveals  the  end,  points  out  the 
spot  where  it  is  doomed  to  disappear,  and  casts  a  ghastly 
light  upon  the  place  of  burial.  In  short,  it  is  but  a 
funeral  torch  to  illumine  the  yawning  chasm,  to  warn 
against  the  inevitable.     What  more  tragic  mockery ! 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  ROCK. 

THE  wretched  people  on  board  the  "  Matutina  "  soon 
understood  the  derisive  character  of  this  warning. 
The  sight  of  the  lighthouse  raised  their  spirits  at  first, 
then  overwhelmed  them  with  despair.  Nothing  could 
be  done,  nothing  attempted.  What  has  been  said  of 
kings,  we  may  say  of  the  waves,  —  we  are  their  people, 
we  are  their  prey.     All  their  raving  must  be  borne. 

The  nor'-wester  was  driving  the  hooker  on  the  Caskets. 
They  were  nearing  them ;  escape  was  impossible.  They 
were  drifting  rapidly  towards  the  reef;  they  felt  that 
they  were  getting  into  shallow  waters ;  the  lead,  if  they 
could  have  thrown  it  to  any  purpose,  would  not  have 
shown  more  than  three  or  four  fathoms.  They  heard 
the  dull  sound  of  the  waves  being  sucked  within  the 
submarine  caves  of  the  steep  rock.  They  made  out, 
near  the  lighthouse,  a  deep  cut  between  two  granite 
walls, —  the  narrow  passage  leading  into  the  ugly,  wild- 
looking  little  harbour,  supposed  to  be  full  of  the  skele- 
tons of  men  and  carcasses  of  ships.  It  looked  like 
the  mouth  of  a  cave,  rather  than  the  entrance  of  a  port. 
They  could  hear  the  crackling  of  the  flames  high  up 
within  the  iron  grating.  A  ghastly  purple  illuminated 
the  storm ;  the  collision  of  the  rain  and  hail  disturbed 
the  mist.  The  black  cloud  and  the  red  flame  fought, 
serpent  against  serpent ;  live  ashes,  reft  by  the  wind, 
flew  from  the  fire,  and  the  sudden  assaults  of  the  sparks 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  ROCK.       127 

seemed  to  drive  the  snow-flakes  before  them.  The  ledge, 
blurred  at  first  in  outline,  now  stood  out  in  bold  relief, 
- —  a  medley  of  rocks  with  peaks,  crests,  and  vertebrae. 
As  they  neared  it,  the  appearance  of  the  reef  became 
more  and  more  forbidding.  One  of  the  women,  the 
Irishwoman,  told  her  beads  wildly. 

The  chief  was  now  acting  as  captain ;  for  the  Basques 
are  equally  at  home  on  the  mountain  and  the  sea ;  they 
are  bold  on  the  precipice,  and  inventive  in  catastrophes. 
They  were  nearing  the  cliff.  They  were  about  to  strike. 
Suddenly  they  came  so  close  to  the  great  rock  north  of 
the  Caskets  that  it  shut  out  the  lighthouse  from  their 
view.  They  saw  nothing  but  the  rock  and  a  red  glare 
behind  it.  The  huge  rock  looming  in  the  mist  was  like 
a  gigantic  black  woman  with  a  hood  of  fire.  This  ill- 
famed  rock  is  called  the  Biblet.  It  faces  the  north  side 
of  the  reef,  which  on  the  south  is  faced  by  another  ridge, 
L'Etacq-aux-giulmets.  The  chief  looked  at  the  Biblet 
and  shouted,  — 

"  A  man  with  a  will  to  take  a  rope  to  the  rock !  Who 
can  swim  ?  " 

No  answer.  No  one  on  board  knew  how  to  swim,  not 
even  the  sailors,  —  an  ignorance  not  uncommon  among 
seafaring  people.  A  beam  nearly  freed  from  its  lash- 
ings was  swinging  loose.  The  chief  seized  it  with  both 
hands,  crying,  — 

"  Help  me !  " 

They  unlashed  the  beam.  They  had  now  at  their  dis- 
posal the  very  thing  they  wanted.  Abandoning  the  de- 
fensive they  assumed  the  offensive.  It  was  a  long  beam 
of  solid  oak,  sound  and  strong,  useful  either  as  a  sup- 
port or  as  a  weapon,  as  a  lever  for  a  burden  or  a  batter- 
ing ram  against  a  tower. 

"  Ready ! "  shouted  the  chief. 

All  six  getting  foothold  on  the  stump  of  the  mast, 


128  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

threw  their  weight  on  the  spar  projecting  over  the  side, 
and  aimed  straight  as  a  lance  towards  a  projection  of  the 
cliff.  It  was  a  dangerous  manoeuvre.  To  strike  at  a 
mountain  is  audacious  indeed ;  the  six  men  might  have 
been  thrown  into  the  water  by  the  shock.  There  is 
variety  in  struggles  with  storms.  After  the  hurricane, 
the  shoal ;  after  the  wind,  the  rock  :  first  the  intangible, 
then  the  immovable,  to  be  encountered.  Several  min- 
utes passed,  such  minutes  as  whiten  men's  hair.  The 
rock  and  the  vessel  were  about  to  come  in  collision ;  the 
rock  awaited  the  blow  like  a  culprit.  A  relentless  wave 
rushed  in ;  it  ended  the  respite.  It  caught  the  vessel 
underneath,  raised  it,  and  swayed  it  for  an  instant  as 
the  sling  swings  its  projectile. 

"  Steady !  "  cried  the  chief,  "  it  is  only  a  rock,  and  we 
are  men !  " 

The  beam  was  couched ;  the  six  men  were  one  with  it ; 
its  sharp  bolts  tore  their  arm-pits,  but  they  did  not  feel 
them.  The  wave  dashed  the  hooker  against  the  rock. 
Then  came  the  shock.  It  came  under  the  cloud  of  foam 
which  always  hides  such  catastrophes.  When  the  spray 
fell  back  into  the  sea,  when  the  waves  rolled  back  from 
the  rock,  the  six  men  were  rolling  about  the  deck,  but 
the  "  Matutina  "  was  floating  alongside  the  rock,  clear 
of  it.  The  beam  had  stood  fast  and  turned  the  vessel 
aside.  The  sea  was  running  so  fast  that  in  a  few  sec- 
onds the  hooker  had  left  the  Caskets  behind. 

Such  things  sometimes  occur.  It  was  a  straight 
stroke  of  the  bowsprit  that  saved  "Wood  of  Largo  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Tay.  In  the  wild  neighbourhood  of  Cape 
Winterton,  and  under  the  command  of  Captain  Hamil- 
ton, it  was  the  appliance  of  such  a  lever  against  the 
dangerous  rock  Branodu-um  that  saved  the  "  Royal 
Mary  "  from  shipwreck,  although  she  was  but  a  Scotch- 
built  frigate.     The  force  of  the  waves  can  be  so  abruptly 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  ROCK.  129 

decomposed  that  changes  in  direction  can  be  easily 
effected,  or  at  least  are  possible  even  in  the  most  violent 
collisions.  The  whole  secret  of  avoiding  shipwreck,  is 
to  try  and  pass  from  the  secant  to  the  tangent.  Such 
was  the  service  the  beam  rendered  to  the  hooker ;  it  had 
done  the  work  of  an  oar,  had  taken  the  place  of  a  rud- 
der. But  the  manoeuvre  once  performed  could  not  be 
repeated.  The  beam  was  overboard;  the  shock  of  the 
collision  had  wrenched  it  out  of  the  men's  hands,  and 
it  was  lost  in  the  waves.  To  loosen  another  beam  would 
have  been  to  dismember  the  hull. 

The  hurricane  swept  the  "  Matutina  "  on.  The  light 
paled  in  the  distance,  faded,  and  disappeared.  There 
was  something  mournful  in  its  extinction.  Layers  of 
mist  gradually  sank  down  upon  the  now  uncertain  light ; 
its  rays  died  in  the  waste  of  waters ;  the  flame  floated, 
struggled,  sank,  and  lost  its  form.  It  might  have  been 
a  drowning  creature.  The  brazier  dwindled  to  the  snuff 
of  a  candle ;  then  naught  remained  save  a  faint  uncer- 
tain glimmer.  It  was  like  the  quenching  of  light  in  the 
pit  of  night. 

The  bell  which  had  threatened  was  dumb ;  the  light- 
house which  had  threatened  had  melted  away.  And  yet 
it  was  more  awful  now  that  they  had  ceased  to  threaten. 
One  was  a  voice,  the  other  a  torch.  There  was  some- 
thing human  about  them.  They  were  gone,  and  naught 
remained  but  the  mighty  deep. 


VOL.  XIX.  —  9 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  NIGHT. 

AGAIN  was  the  hooker  running  with  the  shadow 
into  immeasurable  darkness.  The  "  Matutina, " 
escaped  from  the  Caskets,  sank  and  rose  from  billow  to 
billow,  a  respite,  but  in  chaos.  Spun  around  by  the 
wind,  tossed  by  all  the  thousand  motions  of  the  wave, 
she  reflected  every  mad  oscillation  of  the  sea.  She 
scarcely  pitched  at  all,  —  a  terrible  symptom  in  a  ship 
in  distress.  Wrecks  merely  roll ;  pitching  is  a  sign  of 
strife.     The  helm  alone  can  turn  a  vessel  to  the  wind. 

Mists,  whirlwinds,  gales,  motion  in  all  directions,  no 
shelter,  gulf  succeeding  gulf,  no  horizon  visible,  intense 
blackness  for  background, —  through  all  these  the  hooker 
drifted.  To  have  got  free  of  the  Caskets,  to  have  es- 
caped the  rock,  was  a  victory  for  the  shipwrecked  men ; 
but  it  was  a  victory  which  left  them  in  a  sort  of  stupor. 
They  had  raised  no  cheer ;  at  sea  such  an  impudence  is 
not  repeated  twice.  To  throw  down  a  challenge  where 
they  could  not  cast  the  lead,  would  have  been  too  serious 
a  jest.  The  shipwreck  averted  was  an  impossibility 
achieved ;  they  were  petrified  by  it.  By  degrees,  how- 
ever, they  began  to  hope  again.  Such  are  the  mirages 
of  the  soul !  There  is  no  distress  so  complete  but  that 
even  in  the  most  critical  moments  the  inexplicable  sun- 
rise of  hope  is  seen  in  its  depths.  These  poor  wretches 
were  ready  to  declare  to  themselves  that  they  were 
■aved.     The  words  were  almost  on  their  lips. 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  NIGHT.  131 

But  suddenly  something  terrible  appeared  before  them 
in  the  darkness.  On  the  port  bow  arose  a  tall,  perpen- 
dicular, opaque  mass,  a  square  tower  as  it  were.  They 
gazed  at  it,  open-mouthed.  The  storm  was  driving  them 
straight  towards  it.  They  knew  not  what  it  was.  It 
was  the  Ortach  rock  emerging  from  the  depths  of  ocean. 


CHAPTEE  xrvr. 

ORTACH. 

DANGEE  was  imminent  again.  After  the  Caskets 
comes  Ortach.  The  storm  is  no  artist ;  brutal  and 
all-powerful,  it  never  varies  its  appliances.  The  dark- 
ness is  inexhaustible ;  its  snares  and  perfidies  never 
come  to  an  end.  As  for  man,  he  soon  comes  to  the  end 
of  his  resources.  Man  exhausts  his  strength,  the  abyss 
never.  The  shipwrecked  men  turned  towards  the  chief, 
their  hope.  He  could  only  shrug  his  shoulders.  Dis- 
mal contempt  of  helplessness. 

The  Ortach,  a  single  huge  rock,  rises  in  a  straight 
line  eighty  feet  above  the  angry  beating  of  the  waves. 
"Waves  and  ships  break  against  it.  An  immovable  cube, 
it  plunges  its  rectilinear  planes  into  the  numberless 
serpentine  curves  of  the  sea.  At  night  it  looks  like  an 
enormous  block  resting  on  the  folds  of  a  huge  black 
sheet.  In  time  of  storm  it  awaits  the  stroke  of  the  axe, 
—  that  is,  the  thunderbolt.  But  there  is  never  a  thun- 
derbolt during  a  snow-storm.  True,  the  ship  has  a 
bandage  over  her  eyes ;  she  is  like  one  prepared  for 
the  scaffold.  As  for  the  lightning-bolt  which  puts  one 
quickly  out  of  one's  misery,  that  is  not  to  be  hoped  for. 

The  "  Matutina, "  little  better  now  than  a  log  upon 
the  waters,  drifted  towards  this  rock,  as  she  had  drifted 
towards  the  other.  The  poor  wretches  on  board,  who 
had  for  a  moment  believed  themselves  saved,  relapsed 
into  misery.     The  destruction  they  thought  they  had 


ORTACH.  133 

left  behind  them  confronted  them  again.  The  reef  re- 
appeared from  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Nothing  had  been 
gained. 

The  Caskets  are  a  goffering  iron  with  a  thousand  sub- 
divisions ;  the  Ortach  is  a  solid  wall.  To  be  wrecked 
on  the  Caskets  is  to  be  cut  into  ribbons ;  to  strike  on 
the  Ortach  is  to  be  crushed  into  powder.  Nevertheless 
there  was  one  chance.  On  a  straight  frontage  like  that 
of  the  Ortach,  neither  the  wave  nor  the  cannon-ball  can 
ricochet.  The  operation  is  simple, —  first  the  flux,  then 
the  reflux ;  a  wave  advances,  a  billow  returns.  In  such 
cases  the  question  of  life  and  death  is  balanced  thus :  if 
the  wave  carries  the  vessel  on  the  rock,  she  breaks  on  it 
and  is  lost;  if  the  billow  retires  before  the  ship  has 
touched,  she  is  carried  back,  —  she  is  saved. 

It  was  a  moment  of  intense  anxiety.  Those  on  board 
saw  through  the  gloom  the  great  decisive  wave  bearing 
down  on  them.  How  far  was  it  going  to  drag  them  ? 
If  the  wave  broke  upon  the  ship,  they  would  be  carried 
on  the  rock  and  dashed  to  pieces.  If  it  passed  under 
the  ship  —  The  wave  did  pass  under.  They  breathed 
again. 

But  what  of  the  recoil  ?  What  would  the  surf  do  with 
them  ?  The  surf  carried  them  back.  A  few  minutes 
later  the  "  Matutina  "  was  out  of  the  breakers.  The 
Ortach  faded  from  their  view,  as  the  Caskets  had  done. 
It  was  their  second  victory.  For  the  second  time  the 
hooker  had  verged  on  destruction,  and  had  drawn  back 
in  time. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

PORTENTOSUM  MARE. 

MEANWHILE  a  thickening  mist  had  descended  on 
the  drifting  wretches.  They  were  ignorant  of 
their  whereabouts,  they  could  scarcely  see  a  cable's 
length  around.  Despite  a  furious  storm  of  hail  which 
forced  them  to  bow  their  heads,  the  women  had  obsti- 
nately refused  to  go  below  again.  No  one,  however 
hopeless,  but  wishes,  if  shipwreck  be  inevitable,  to  meet 
it  in  the  open  air.  When  so  near  death,  a  ceiling  above 
one's  head  seems  like  the  first  outline  of  a  coffin. 

They  were  now  in  a  short  and  chopping  sea.  A  turgid 
sea  indicates  its  constraint.  Even  in  a  fog  the  entrance 
to  a  strait  may  be  known  by  the  boiling  appearance  of 
the  waves.  And  it  was  so  in  this  case,  for  they  were 
unconsciously  skirting  the  coast  of  Alderney.  Between 
the  Caskets  and  Ortach  on  the  west  and  Alderney  on  the 
east,  the  sea  is  cramped  and  hemmed  in.  In  this  un- 
comfortable position  the  sea  suffers  like  anything  else ; 
and  when  it  suffers,  it  is  irritable.  Consequently,  that 
channel  is  a  thing  to  fear.  The  "  Matutina  "  was  in 
that  channel  now. 

Imagine  under  the  sea  a  tortoise  shell  as  big  as  Hyde 
Park  or  the  Champs  Elyse'es,  of  which  every  striature  is 
a  shoal,  and  every  embossment  a  reef.  Such  is  the 
western  approach  of  Alderney.  The  sea  covers  and  con- 
ceals this  shipwrecking  apparatus.  On  this  conglomera- 
tion of  submarine  breakers  the  cloven  waves  leap  and 


PORTENTOSUM  MARE.  135 

foam ;  in  calm  weather  a  chopping  sea,  in  storms  a  chaos 
reigns.  The  shipwrecked  men  observed  this  new  com- 
plication without  endeavouring  to  explain  it  to  them- 
selves. Suddenly  they  understood  it.  A  pale  vista 
broadened  in  the  zenith;  a  wan  tinge  overspread  the 
sea;  the  livid  light  revealed  on  the  port  side  a  long 
shoal  stretching  eastward,  towards  which  the  power  of 
the  rushing  wind  was  driving  the  vessel.  What  was 
that  shoal  ?  They  shuddered.  They  would  have  shud- 
dered even  more  had  a  voice  answered  them,"  Alderney  !  " 

No  other  isle  is  so  well  defended  against  man's  ap- 
proach as  Alderney.  Below  and  above  water  it  is  pro- 
tected by  a  savage  guard,  of  which  Ortach  is  the  outpost. 
To  the  west  are  Burhou,  Sauteriaux,  Anfroque,  Niangle, 
Fond  du  Croc,  Les  Jumelles,  La  Grosse,  La  Clanque, 
Les  Eguillons,  Le  Vrac,  La  Fosse -Maliere ;  to  the  east, 
Sauquet,  Hommeau  Floreau,  La  Brinebetais,  La  Ques- 
lingue,  Croquelihou,  La  Fourche,  Le  Saut,  Noire  Pute, 
Coupie,  Orbue.  These  are  hydra-headed  monsters  of  the 
protecting  reef.  One  of  these  reefs  is  called  Le  But,  — 
the  Goal, —  as  if  to  imply  that  every  voyage  ends  there. 
This  obstruction,  simplified  by  night  and  sea,  looked  to 
the  shipwrecked  men  like  a  singledark  belt  of  rocks,  a 
sort  of  blot  on  the  horizon. 

Shipwreck  is  the  height  of  helplessness.  To  be  near 
land,  and  unable  to  reach  it ;  to  float,  yet  not  to  be  able 
to  do  so  in  any  desired  direction ;  to  rest  the  foot  on 
what  seems  firm  and  is  fragile;  to  be  full  of  life,  and 
yet  o'ershadowed  by  death ;  to  be  a  prisoner  in  space ; 
to  be  walled  in  between  sky  and  ocean ;  to  have  the 
infinite  overhead  like  a  dungeon ;  to  be  encompassed  by 
the  treacherous  winds  and  waves ;  to  be  seized,  bound, 
paralyzed,  —  such  a  load  of  misfortune  stupefies  and 
crushes  us.  We  imagine  that  in  it  we  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  sneer  of  the  opponent  who  is  beyond  our  reach. 


136  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

That  which  holds  you  fast  is  that  which  releases  the 
birds  and  sets  the  fishes  free.  It  seems  nothing,  and  is 
everything.  We  are  dependent  on  the  air  which  is 
ruffled  by  our  mouths ;  we  are  dependent  on  the  water 
which  we  catch  in  the  hollow  of  our  hands.  Draw  a 
glassful  from  the  storm,  and  it  is  but  a  cup  of  bitterness  ; 
a  mouthful  is  nausea,  a  waveful  is  extermination.  The 
grain  of  sand  in  the  desert,  the  foam-flake  on  the  sea,  are 
fearful  symptoms.  Omnipotence  takes  no  care  to  hide 
its  atom ;  it  changes  weakness  into  strength ;  and  it  is 
with  the  infinitely  little  that  the  infinitely  great  crushes 
you.  It  is  with  its  drops  that  the  ocean  overwhelms 
you.  You  feel  you  are  a  plaything.  A  plaything : 
ghastly  epithet! 

The  "  Matutina  "  was  a  little  above  Alderney,  which 
was  not  an  unfavourable  position ;  but  she  was  drifting 
towards  its  northern  point,  which  was  fatal.  As  a  bent 
bow  discharges  its  arrow,  the  nor'-wester  was  shooting 
the  vessel  towards  the  northern  cape.  Off  that  point,  a 
little  beyond  the  harbour  of  Corbelets,  is  that  which  the 
seamen  of  the  Norman  archipelago  call  a  "  singe, "  — 
that  is,  a  current.  The  "  singe  "  is  a  furious  kind  of 
current.  A  wreath  of  funnels  in  the  shallows  produces 
a  wreath  of  whirlpools  on  the  surface.  You  escape  one 
only  to  fall  into  another.  A  ship  caught  hold  of  by  the 
"  singe  "  whirls  round  and  round  until  some  sharp  rock 
cleaves  her  hull;  then  the  shattered  vessel  stops,  her 
stern  rises  from  the  waves,  the  bow  completes  the  revo- 
lution in  the  abyss,  the  stern  sinks  in,  and  the  entire 
wreck  is  sucked  down.  The  circle  of  foam  broadens, 
and  nothing  is  seen  on  the  surface  of  the  waves  but  a 
few  bubbles  here  and  there. 

The  three  most  dangerous  currents  in  the  whole  Chan- 
nel are  —  one  close  to  the  well-known  Girdler  Sands ; 
one  at  Jersey  between  the  Pignonnet  and  the  Point  of 
Noirmont;  and  that  of  Alderney. 


PORTENTOSUM   MARE.  137 

Had  a  local  pilot  been  on  board  the  "  Matutina, "  he 
could  have  warned  them  of  their  fresh  peril.  In  place 
of  a  pilot,  they  had  their  instinct.  In  situations  of  ex- 
treme danger  men  are  endowed  with  second  sight.  With- 
out knowing  exactly  what  awaited  them,  they  approached 
the  spot  with  horror.  How  could  they  double  that  cape  ? 
They  had  no  means  of  doing  it.  Just  as  they  had  seen, 
first  the  Caskets,  then  Ortach,  loom  up  before  them,  they 
now  saw  the  point  of  Alderney,  all  of  steep  rock.  It 
was  like  a  number  of  giants  rising  up  one  after  another 
to  offer  them  battle.  Charybdis  and  Scylla  make  but 
two;  the  Caskets,  Ortach,  and  Alderney  make  three. 
The  phenomenon  of  the  horizon,  invaded  by  the  rocks, 
was  again  repeated  with  the  grand  monotony  of  the  deep. 
The  battles  of  the  ocean  have  the  same  sublime  tautology 
as  the  combats  of  Homer.  Each  wave,  as  they  neared 
it,  added  twenty  cubits  to  the  apparent  cape,  already 
greatly  magnified  by  the  mist ;  the  fast  decreasing  dis- 
tance seemed  to  render  destruction  more  and  more  inevi- 
table. They  were  on  the  edge  of  the  seething  current 
already !  The  first  ripple  that  seized  them  would  drag 
them  in;  another  wave  surmounted,  and  all  would  be 
over! 

Suddenly  the  hooker  was  driven  back,  as  if  by  a  blow 
from  a  Titan's  fist.  The  wave  reared  up  under  the  ves- 
sel and  fell  back,  throwing  the  waif  back  in  its  mane  of 
foam.  The  "  Matutina, "  thus  impelled,  drifted  away 
from  Alderney.  She  was  again  on  the  open  sea.  Whence 
had  come  the  succour  ?  From  the  wind.  The  breath  of 
the  storm  had  changed  its  direction.  The  wave  had 
made  them  its  toy;  now  it  was  the  wind's  turn.  They 
had  saved  themselves  from  the  Caskets.  Off  Ortach  it 
was  the  wave  which  had  been  their  friend ;  now  it  was 
the  wind.  The  wind  had  suddenly  veered  from  north 
to  south.     A  sou'-wester  had  succeeded  the  nor'-wester 


138  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

The  current  is  the  wind  in  the  waters ;  the  wind  is  th« 
current  in  the  air.  These  two  forces  had  just  counter- 
acted each  other,  and  it  had  been  the  wind's  will  to 
snatch  its  prey  from  the  current. 

The  whims  of  ocean  are  incomprehensible ;  they  are, 
perhaps,  an  embodiment  of  the  perpetual.  When  one  is 
at  their  mercy  one  can  neither  hope  nor  despair.  They 
do  and  then  undo.  The  ocean  amuses  itself.  Every 
shade  of  wild,  untamed  ferocity  is  phased  in  the  vast 
and  cunning  sea,  which  Jean  Bart  used  to  call  "  that 
big  brute. "  To  its  claws  and  their  gashings  succeed  soft 
intervals  of  velvet  paws.  Sometimes  the  storm  hurries 
on  a  wreck,  at  others  it  works  out  the  problem  with 
care;  it  might  almost  be  said  that  it  lingers  over  it 
The  sea  can  afford  to  take  its  time,  as  its  victims  learn 
to  their  cost. 

We  must  own  that  occasionally  these  lulls  in  the  tor- 
ture announce  deliverance.  Such  cases  are  rare.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  men  in  extreme  peril  are  quick  to 
believe  in  rescue ;  the  slightest  cessation  in  the  storm's 
threats  is  sufficient, —  they  tell  themselves  that  they  are 
out  of  danger.  After  believing  themselves  as  good  as 
buried,  they  announce  their  resurrection.  It  appears 
that  their  luck  has  turned;  they  declare  themselves 
satisfied;  they  are  saved;  they  cry  quits  with  God. 

The  sou '-wester  set  in  with  a  whirlwind.  Ship- 
wrecked men  have  never  any  but  rough  helpers.  The 
"  Matutina  "  was  dragged  rapidly  out  to  sea  by  the  re- 
mains of  her  rigging,  like  a  dead  woman  trailed  by  the' 
hair.  It  was  like  the  freedom  granted  by  Tiberius,  at 
the  price  of  violation.  The  wind  treated  with  brutality 
those  whom  it  saved ;  it  rendered  service  with  fury ;  it 
gave  help  without  pity.  The  wreck  was  breaking  up 
under  the  severity  of  its  deliverers.  Hailstones,  big  and 
hard  enough  to  charge  a  blunderbuss,  smote  the  vessel ; 


PORTENTOSUM  MARE.  139 

at  every  rise  and  fall  of  the  waves  these  hailstones  rolled 
about  the  deck  like  marbles.  The  hooker,  whose  deck 
was  almost  even  with  the  water  was  being  beaten  out  of 
shape  by  the  heavy  sea  and  its  clouds  of  spray.  On 
board  it  each  man  was  for  himself.  They  clung  on  as 
best  they  could.  As  each  sea  swept  over  them,  it  was 
with  a  sense  of  surprise  that  they  saw  that  all  were  still 
there.  Several  had  their  faces  torn  by  splinters.  Hap- 
pily despair  makes  stout  hands.  In  terror  a  child's 
hand  has  the  grasp  of  a  giant ;  agony  makes  a  vice  of  a 
woman's  fingers;  a  girl  in  her  fright  can  almost  bury 
her  rose-coloured  fingers  in  a  piece  of  iron.  With  hooked 
fingers  they  hung  on  somehow,  as  the  waves  dashed  over 
them ;  but  each  wave  increased  their  fear  of  being  swept 
away. 

But  their  fears  were  suddenly  relieved. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   PROBLEM   SUDDENLY   WORKS   IN   SILENCE. 

THE  hurricane  ended  as  abruptly  as  it  began.  In  a 
minute  or  two  there  was  no  longer  sou'-wester  or 
nor'-wester  in  the  air.  The  fierce  clarions  of  space  were 
mute.  The  whole  of  the  water-spout  had  poured  from 
the  sky  without  any  sign  of  diminution,  as  if  it  had 
slided  perpendicularly  into  a  gulf  beneath.  Snow-flakes 
took  the  place  of  hailstones ;  the  snow  began  to  fall 
slowly.  There  was  no  more  swell;  the  sea  quieted 
down. 

Such  sudden  cessations  are  peculiar  to  snow-storms. 
The  electric  influence  exhausted,  everything  becomes 
still, —  even  the  sea,  which  in  ordinary  storms  often  re- 
mains agitated  for  a  long  time.  In  snow-storms  it  is 
not  so.  There  is  then  no  prolonged  disturbance  in  the 
deep.  Like  a  weary  worker  it  becomes  drowsy  directly, 
—  thus  almost  giving  the  lie  to  the  laws  of  statics,  but 
not  astonishing  old  seamen,  who  know  that  the  sea  is 
full  of  unforeseen  surprises.  The  same  phenomenon  takes 
place,  although  very  rarely,  in  ordinary  storms.  Thus, 
in  our  own  time,  on  the  occasion  of  the  memorable  hur- 
ricane of  July  27,  1867,  at  Jersey  the  wind,  after  four- 
teen hours'  fury,  suddenly  relapsed  into  a  dead  calm. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  hooker  was  floating  on  sleeping 
waters.  At  the  same  time  (for  the  last  phase  of  these 
storms  resembles  the  first)  the  crew  could  distinguish 
nothing ;  all  that  had  been  made  visible  in  the  convul- 


THE  PROBLEM  SUDDENLY  WORKS  IN  SILENCE.      141 

sions  of  the  meteoric  cloud  was  again  dark.  Pale  out- 
lines were  fused  in  vague  mist,  and  the  gloom  of  infinite 
space  closed  in  around  the  vessel.  Walls  of  inky  black- 
ness surrounded  the  "  Matutina, "  and  with  the  grim  de- 
liberation of  an  encroaching  iceberg  were  slowly  but 
surely  closing  in  around  her.  In  the  zenith  nothing 
was  visible ;  a  lid  of  fog  seemed  to  be  closing  down  upon 
the  vessel.  It  was  as  if  the  hooker  were  at  the  bottom 
of  an  unfathomable  abyss.  The  sea  was  like  a  puddle 
of  molten  lead.  No  movement  was  perceptible  in  the 
waters, —  ominous  immobility!  The  ocean  is  never  less 
tame  than  when  it  is  still  as  a  pool.  All  was  silence, 
stillness,  darkness.  Perchance  the  silence  of  inanimate 
objects  is  taciturnity.  The  deck  was  horizontal,  with 
an  insensible  slope  to  the  sides.  A  few  broken  planks 
were  sliding  about.  The  block  on  which  they  had 
lighted  the  tow  steeped  in  tar,  in  place  of  the  signal- 
light  which  had  been  washed  away,  no  longer  swung  at 
the  prow,  and  no  longer  let  fall  burning  drops  into  the 
sea.  What  little  breeze  remained  in  the  clouds  was 
noiseless.  The  snow  fell  thickly,  softly,  and  almost 
perpendicularly.  No  sound  of  breakers  could  be  heard. 
The  quiet  of  midnight  was  over  all. 

This  profound  peace  succeeding  such  terrific  tempests 
and  frenzied  efforts  was,  for  these  poor  creatures  so  long 
tossed  about,  an  unspeakable  comfort ;  it  was  as  though 
the  punishment  of  the  rack  had  ceased.  It  seemed  an 
assurance  that  they  would  be  saved.  They  regained  con- 
fidence. All  that  had  been  fury  was  now  tranquillity. 
It  appeared  to  them  a  pledge  of  peace.  Their  wretched 
hearts  swelled  with  hope.  They  were  able  to  let  go  the 
end  of  rope  or  beam  to  which  they  had  clung,  to  rise, 
straighten  themselves  up,  stand  erect,  and  move  about. 
They  felt  inexpressibly  relieved.  There  are  in  the  depths 
of  darkness  such  phases  of  paradise,   preparations  for 


142  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

other  things.  It  was  evident  that  they  were  delivered 
from  the  storm,  from  the  foam,  from  the  wind,  from  the 
uproar.  Henceforth  all  the  chances  were  in  their  favour. 
In  three  or  four  hours  it  would  be  sunrise.  They  would 
be  seen  by  some  passing  ship ;  they  would  be  rescued. 
The  worst  was  over,  they  were  re-entering  life.  The 
important  feat  was  to  have  been  able  to  keep  afloat  until 
the  cessation  of  the  tempest.  They  said  to  themselves, 
"  It  is  all  over  now.  " 

Suddenly  they  found  that  all  was  indeed  over.  One 
of  the  sailors,  the  northern  Basque,  Galdeazun  by  name, 
going  down  into  the  hold  to  look  for  a  rope,  came  hur- 
riedly up  again  and  exclaimed,  — 

"The  hold  is  full!" 

■  Of  what  ?  "  asked  the  chief. 

"  Of  water, "  answered  the  sailor. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  cried  the  chief. 

*  It  means, "  replied  Galdeazun,  "  that  in  half  an  hour 
we  shall  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. " 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

THE   LAST   RESOURCE. 

THERE  was  a  hole  in  the  keel.  A  leak  had  been 
sprung.  When  it  happened  no  one  could  tell. 
Was  it  when  they  touched  the  Caskets  ?  Was  it  off 
Ortach  ?  Was  it  when  they  were  whirled  about  on  the 
shoal  west  of  Alderney  ?  It  was  most  probable  that  they 
had  struck  against  some  hidden  rock,  the  shock  of  which 
they  had  not  felt  in  the  midst  of  the  convulsive  fury  of 
the  wind  which  was  tossing  them  about.  When  one 
has  tetanus  who  would  feel  a  pin-prick  ? 

The  other  sailor,  the  southern  Basque,  whose  name  was 
Ave  Maria,  also  went  down  into  the  hold,  and  returning 
to  the  deck  said :  "  There  are  six  feet  of  water  in  the  hold ;" 
and  added,  "  In  less  than  forty  minutes  we  shall  sink. " 

Where  was  the  leak  ?  They  could  not  find  it.  It  was 
hidden  by  the  water  which  was  filling  the  hold.  The  ves- 
sel had  a  hole  in  her  hull  somewhere  below  the  water-line, 
quite  forward  in  the  keel.  Impossible  to  find  it,  impossi- 
ble to  check  it.  They  had  a  wound  which  they  could  not 
stanch.     The  water,  however,  was  not  rising  very  fast. 

The  chief  called  out :  "  We  must  work  the  pump !  " 

Galdeazun  replied  :  "  We  have  no  pump  left.  " 

"  Then, "  said  the  chief,  "  we  must  make  for  land.  " 

"  Where  is  the  land  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  " 

■  Nor  I " 

"  But  it  must  be  somewhere. " 
"  True  enough.  * 

■  Let  some  one  steer  for  it  * 


144  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

"  We  have  no  pilot.  " 

"  Take  the  tiller  yourself.  " 

■  We  have  lost  the  tiller.  " 

"  Let  's  rig  one  out  of  the  first  beam  we  can  lay  hands 
on.     Nails  —  a  hammer  —  quick  —  some  tools. " 

"The  carpenter's  box  went  overboard;  we  have  no 
tools. " 

"  We  '11  steer  all  the  same ;  no  matter  where.  " 

"  The  rudder  is  lost. " 

"  Where  is  the  boat  ?     We  '11  get  in  that  and  row.  " 

"  The  boat  is  gone  too. " 

■  We  '11  row  the  wreck.  " 

"  We  have  lost  all  our  oars.  " 

"  We  '11  have  to  depend  upon  our  sails  then.  " 

"  We  have  lost  our  sails,  and  the  mast  as  well. " 

"  We  '11  rig  one  up  with  a  pole  and  a  tarpaulin.  Let 's 
get  out  of  this,  and  trust  to  the  wind. " 

"  There  is  no  wind.  " 

The  wind,  indeed,  had  deserted  them,  the  storm  had 
fled,  and  its  departure,  which  they  had  believed  to  mean 
safety,  meant  in  fact  destruction.  Had  the  sou '-wester 
continued,  it  might  have  driven  them  wildly  on  some 
shore,  might  have  beaten  the  leak  in  speed,  might  per- 
haps have  carried  them  to  some  propitious  sandbank, 
and  cast  them  on  it  before  the  hooker  foundered.  The 
fury  of  the  storm,  bearing  them  onward,  might  have 
enabled  them  to  reach  land ;  but  no  wind  now  meant  no 
hope.  They  were  going  to  die  because  the  hurricane 
was  over.     The  end  was  near ! 

Wind,  hail,  the  hurricane,  the  whirlwind,  —  these  are 
wild  combatants  that  may  be  overcome ;  the  storm  can 
be  taken  in  the  weak  point  of  its  armour;  there  are  re- 
sources against  the  violence  which  is  often  off  its  guard, 
and  often  hits  wide  of  the  mark.  But  nothing  can  be 
done  against  a  calm;  there  is  nothing  tangible  which 


THE  LAST  RESOURCE.  145 

you  can  lay  hold  upon.  The  winds  are  like  Cossacks : 
stand  your  ground  and  they  will  disperse.  Calms  re- 
mind one  of  an  executioner's  pincers. 

The  water  crept  up  higher  and  higher  in  the  hold ; 
and  as  it  rose,  the  vessel  sank,  —  slowly  but  surely. 
Those  on  board  the  wreck  of  the  "  Matutina  "  felt  that 
most  hopeless  of  catastrophes,  —  an  inert  catastrophe 
undermining  them.  The  grim  certainty  of  their  fate 
petrified  them.  No  stir  in  the  air,  no  movement  on  the 
sea.  The  motionless  is  the  inexorable.  Absorption  was 
sucking  them  down  silently.  Through  the  depths  of  the 
silent  waters  —  without  anger,  without  passion,  not  will- 
ing, not  knowing,  not  caring  —  the  fatal  centre  of  the 
globe  was  drawing  them  downwards.  It  was  no  longer 
the  wide-open  mouth  of  the  sea,  the  fierce  jaws  of  the 
wind  and  the  wave,  that  threatened  them ;  it  was  as  if 
the  wretched  beings  had  under  them  the  black  gulf  of 
the  infinite.  They  felt  themselves  slowly  sinking  into 
oblivion.  The  distance  between  the  deck  and  the  water 
was  lessening,  —  that  was  all.  They  could  calculate 
her  disappearance  to  the  moment.  It  was  the  exact 
reverse  of  submersion  by  the  rising  tide.  The  water 
was  not  rising  towards  them,  they  were  sinking  into  it. 
They  were  digging  their  own  grave.  Their  own  weight 
was  their  sexton.  Their  fate  was  sealed,  not  by  the 
laws  of  man,  but  by  the  laws  of  Nature. 

The  snow  continued  to  fall,  and  as  the  wreck  was  now 
perfectly  motionless,  it  was  covered  as  with  a  winding, 
sheet.  The  hold  was  becoming  fuller  and  deeper.  There 
was  no  way  of  getting  at  the  leak.  They  struck  a  light 
and  fixed  three  or  four  torches  in  holes  as  best  they 
could.  Galdeazun  brought  some  old  leathern  buckets, 
and  they  tried  to  bale  the  hold  out,  standing  in  a  row 
to  pass  the  buckets  from  hand  to  hand ;  but  the  buckets 
were  past  use ;  the  leather  of  some  was  unstitched,  there 

VOL.   XIX.  —  10 


146  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

were  holes  in  the  bottoms  of  others,  and  the  buckets 
emptied  themselves  on  the  way.  The  difference  in 
quantity  between  the  water  which  was  making  its  way 
in  and  that  which  they  returned  to  the  sea  was  ludi- 
crous ;  for  a  hogshead  that  entered,  a  glassful  was  baled 
out ;  so  they  did  not  improve  their  condition.  It  was 
like  a  miser  trying  to  spend  a  million,  half-penny  by 
half-penny. 

The  chief  said,  "  Let  us  lighten  the  wreck.  " 
During  the  storm  they  had  lashed  together  the  few 
chests  which  were  on  deck.  These  remained  tied  to  the 
stump  of  the  mast.  They  undid  the  lashings,  and  rolled 
the  chests  overboard  through  a  breach  in  the  gunwale. 
One  of  these  trunks  belonged  to  the  Basque  woman,  who 
could  not  repress  a  groan  as  she  saw  it  going,  exclaim- 
ing.— 

"  Oh,  my  new  cloak  lined  with  scarlet !  Oh,  my  poor 
open-work  stockings !  Oh,  my  silver  earrings  to  wear 
at  Mass  on  May-day !  " 

The  deck  cleared,  the  cabin  had  next  to  be  seen  to. 
It  was  greatly  encumbered,  as  the  reader  may  remember, 
by  the  luggage  belonging  to  the  passengers,  and  by  the 
bales  belonging  to  the  sailors.  They  took  the  luggage, 
and  threw  it  over  the  gunwale.  They  carried  up  the 
bales,  and  cast  them  into  the  sea.  The  lantern,  the 
barrels,  the  sacks  of  provisions,  the  bales,  and  the  water- 
butts,  even  the  pot  of  soup,  —  all  went  over  into  the 
waves.  They  unscrewed  the  nuts  of  the  iron  stove,  in 
which  the  fire  had  long  since  gone  out,  hoisted  it  on 
deck,  dragged  it  to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  threw  it 
overboard.  They  cast  overboard  everything  they  could 
pull  out  of  the  deck,  —  chains,  shrouds,  and  torn  rigging. 
From  time  to  time  the  chief  took  a  torch,  and  throw- 
ing its  light  on  the  figures  painted  on  the  prow  looked 
to  see  how  much  the  wreck  had  settled  down. 


] 
they  re 


■ 


"Let  us  throw  our  crimes  into  the  sea." 
Photo -Etching.  —  From  Drawing  by  G.  Rochegrosse, 


oked 


CHAPTEE  XVIH 

THE   HIGHEST   RESOURCE. 

THE  wreck  being  lightened  was  sinking  more  slowly, 
but  none  the  less  surely.  The  hopelessness  of 
their  situation  was  without  mitigation;  they  had  ex- 
hausted their  last  resource. 

"  Is  there  anything  else  we  can  throw  overboard  ?  " 
asked  one. 

The  doctor,  whom  every  one  had  forgotten,  rose  from 
the  companion-way  and  answered  :  "  Yes.  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  the  chief. 

"  Our  crime, "  replied  the  doctor. 

They  shuddered,  and  all  cried  out :  "  Amen.  " 

The  doctor  standing  up,  pale  as  death,  raised  his  hand 
to  heaven,  saying :  "  Kneel  down.  " 

They  all  prepared  to  kneel. 

The  doctor  went  on.  "  Let  us  throw  our  crimes  into 
the  sea,  they  weigh  us  down ;  it  is  they  that  are  sinking 
the  ship.  Let  us  cease  to  think  of  safety ;  let  us  think 
only  of  salvation.  Our  last  crime,  —  the  crime  which 
we  committed,  or  rather  completed,  just  now,  —  0 
wretched  beings  who  are  listening  to  me,  it  is  that 
which  is  overwhelming  us !  For  those  who  leave  in- 
tended murder  behind  them,  it  is  the  height  of  audacity 
to  tempt  the  mighty  deep.  He  who  sins  against  a  child, 
sins  against  God.  True,  we  were  obliged  to  put  to  sea, 
but  it  was  certain  perdition.  The  storm,  warned  by 
the  shadow  of  our  crime,  came  upon  us.      It  is  welL 


148  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Kegret  nothing,  however.  There,  not  far  off  in  the 
darkness,  are  the  sands  of  Vauville  and  Cape  La  Hogue 
on  the  coast  of  France.  There  was  but  one  possible 
shelter  for  us,  —  that  was  Spain.  Trance  was  no  less 
dangerous  to  us  than  England.  Our  deliverance  from 
the  sea  would  have  led  only  to  the  gibbet.  We  had  no 
alternative  but  to  be  hanged  or  drowned.  God  has 
chosen  for  us ;  let  us  give  him  thanks.  He  has  vouch- 
safed us  the  grave  which  cleanses.  Brethren,  the  hand 
of  God  is  in  it.  Bemember  that  we  just  now  did  our 
best  to  send  that  child  on  high,  and  that  at  this  very 
moment,  as  I  speak,  there  is,  perhaps,  in  the  world  above 
a  soul  accusing  us  before  a  Judge  whose  eye  is  upon  us. 
Let  us  make  the  best  use  of  this  last  respite ;  let  us 
make  an  effort,  if  time  be  granted  us,  to  repair,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  evil  that  we  have  done.  If  the  child  sur- 
vives us,  let  us  do  what  we  can  to  aid  him  ;  if  he  is  dead, 
let  us  seek  his  forgiveness.  Let  us  cast  our  sins  from 
us.  Let  us  ease  our  consciences  of  this  load.  Let  us 
pray  that  our  souls  be  not  cast  out  from  the  presence 
of  Almighty  God,  for  that  is  the  worst  of  shipwrecks. 
Bodies  go  to  the  fishes,  souls  to  the  Evil  One.  Have 
pity  on  yourselves.  Kneel  down,  I  tell  you.  Eepent- 
ance  is  the  only  bark  which  never  sinks.  You  have  lost 
your  compass ;  you  have  gone  sadly  astray ;  but  you  can 
still  pray.  " 

The  wolves  had  become  lambs :  such  transformations 
often  occur  at  the  hour  of  death.  Even  tigers  lick  the 
crucifix.  When  the  dark  portals  of  the  grave  yawn,  to 
believe  is  difficult,  not  to  believe  is  impossible.  How- 
ever unsatisfactory  the  different  religious  creeds  of  man- 
kind may  be,  no  matter  how  little  they  correspond  with 
his  conception  of  the  life  hereafter,  the  boldest  soul 
quails  when  the  moment  of  final  dissolution  comes. 
There  must  be  something   that  begins  when  this  life 


THE  HIGHEST  RESOURCE.  149 

ends.  This  thought  impresses  itself  upon  the  mind  of 
the  dying. 

Death  is  the  end  of  each  man's  term  of  probation. 
In  that  fatal  hour  he  realizes  the  burden  of  responsibil- 
ity that  rests  upon  every  human  soul.  That  which  has 
been  decides  what  is  to  be.  The  past  returns,  and  en- 
ters into  the  future.  The  known  becomes  as  terrifying 
as  the  unknown ;  it  is  the  confusion  of  the  two  which  so 
terrifies  the  dying  man. 

These  poor  wretches  had  abandoned  all  hope  so  far  as 
this  life  was  concerned,  so  they  turned  their  thoughts  to 
the  other.  Their  only  remaining  chance  was  in  its  dark 
shadow,  and  they  understood  this  fact  perfectly.  "  Speak, 
speak ! "  they  cried  out  to  the  doctor ;  "  there  is  no  one 
else  to  tell  us.  We  will  obey  thee.  What  must  we  do ! 
Speak ! " 

The  doctor  answered :  "  The  question  is  how  to  pass 
over  the  unknown  precipice  and  reach  the  shores  of  the 
unknown  world  beyond  the  tomb.  Being  the  wisest 
among  you,  my  danger  is  greater  than  yours.  You  do 
well  to  leave  the  choice  of  the  bridge  to  him  whose 
burden  is  the  heaviest.  For  knowledge  only  increases 
one's  responsibility.     How  much  time  have  we  left?  " 

Galdeazun  looked  at  the  water-mark,  and  answered : 
"  A  little  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  " 

"  Good, "  said  the  doctor. 

The  low  roof  of  the  companion-way  on  which  he  was 
leaning  served  as  a  sort  of  table.  The  doctor  took  from 
his  pocket  his  inkhorn  and  pen,  and  drew  from  his 
pocket-book  a  piece  of  parchment,  the  same  on  which 
he  had  written,  a  few  hours  before,  some  twenty  cramped 
and  crooked  lines.     "  A  light, "  he  said. 

The  snow,  falling  like  the  spray  of  a  cataract,  had 
extinguished  the  torches  one  after  another;  there  was 
but  one  left.     Ave  Maria  took  it  out  of  the  place  where 


150  THE  MAN   WHO  LAUGHS. 

it  had  been  stuck,  and  holding  it  in  his  hand,  came  and 
stood  by  the  doctor's  side. 

The  doctor  replaced  his  pocket-book  in  his  pocket, 
set  the  pen  and  inkhorn  on  the  top  of  the  companion- 
way,  unfolded  the  parchment,  and  said  :  "  Listen.  " 

Then  in  the  midst  of  the  sea,  on  the  sinking  deck 
(a  sort  of  quaking  flooring  of  the  tomb),  the  doctor  began 
a  solemn  reading,  to  which  all  the  shadows  seemed  to 
listen.  The  doomed  men  bowed  their  heads  around  him. 
The  flickering  light  of  the  torch  intensified  their  pallor. 
What  the  doctor  read  was  written  in  English.  Now  and 
then,  when  one  of  those  woe-begone  looks  seemed  to  ask 
an  explanation,  the  doctor  would  stop,  and  repeat,  either 
in  French,  Spanish,  Basque,  or  Italian,  the  passage  he 
had  just  read  Stifled  sobs  and  hollow  beatings  of  the 
breast  were  heard.  The  wreck  was  sinking  more  and 
more. 

The  reading  over,  the  doctor  placed  the  parchment  flat 
on  the  companion-way,  seized  his  pen,  and  on  a  clear 
margin  which  he  had  carefully  left  at  the  bottom  of 
what  he  had  written,  he  signed  himself :  "  Gerhadus 
Geestemunde :  Doctor. " 

Then  turning  towards  the  others,  he  said :  "  Come, 
and  sign. " 

The  Basque  woman  approached,  took  the  pen,  and 
signed  herself,  "  Asuncion. "  She  handed  the  pen  to 
the  Irish  woman,  who,  not  knowing  how  to  write,  made 
a  cross.  The  doctor,  by  the  side  of  this  cross,  wrote, 
"  Barbara  Fermoy,  of  Tyrrif  Island,  in  the  Hebrides. " 
Then  he  handed  the  pen  to  the  chief  of  the  band.  The 
chief  signed,"  Gaizdorra  :  Captal.  "  The  Genoese  signed 
himself  under  the  chief's  name,  "  Giangirate. "  The 
Languedocian  signed,  "  Jacques  Quartourze :  alias  the 
Narbonnais.  "  The  Provencal  signed,  "  Luc-Pierre  Cap- 
garoupe,  of  the  Galleys  of  Mahon. " 


THE  HIGHEST  RESOURCE.  151 

Under  these  signatures  the  doctor  added  a  note :  "  Of 
the  crew  of  three  men,  the  captain  having  been  washed 
overboard  by  a  sea,  but  two  remain,  and  they  have 
signed. " 

The  two  sailors  affixed  their  names  underneath  the 
note.  The  northern  Basque  signed  himself,  "  Galdeazun.  " 
The  southern  Basque  signed,  "  Ave  Maria :  Thief. " 

Then  the  doctor  said  :  "  Capgaroupe.  " 

"  Here, "  said  the  Provencal. 

"  Have  you  Hardquanonne's  flask  ?  " 

"  Yes. " 

"  Give  it  me.  " 

Capgaroupe  drank  off  the  last  mouthful  of  brandy,  and 
handed  the  flask  to  the  doctor. 

The  water  was  rising  in  the  hold;  the  wreck  was 
sinking  deeper  into  the  sea.  The  sloping  edges  of  the 
ship  were  covered  by  a  thin  wave,  which  was  rising. 
All  were  crowded  on  the  centre  of  the  deck. 

The  doctor  dried  the  ink  on  the  signatures  by  the 
flame  of  the  torch,  and  folding  the  parchment  into  a 
narrower  compass  than  the  diameter  of  the  neck,  put  it 
into  the  flask,  and  called  for  the  cork. 

"  I  don't  know  where  it  is, "  said  Capgaroupe. 

"  Here  is  a  piece  of  rope, "  said  Jacques  Quartourze. 

The  doctor  corked  the  flask  with  a  bit  of  rope,  and 
asked  for  some  tar.  Galdeazun  went  forward,  extin- 
guished the  signal-light,  took  the  vessel  which  had  held 
it  from  the  stern,  and  brought  it,  half  full  of  burning 
pitch,  to  the  doctor.  The  flask  containing  the  parch- 
ment which  they  had  all  signed  was  carefully  corked 
and  tarred  over. 

"  It  is  done, "  said  the  doctor. 

And  from  every  mouth,  faltered  in  every  language, 
came  as  if  from  the  tomb  such  dismal  utterances  as 

"  Ainsi  soit-il !  " 


152  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

"Mea  culpa!" 

"  Asi  sea !  " 

"  Aro  rai !  " 

"  Amen ! " 

It  was  as  though  the  gloomy  voices  of  Babel  were 
resounding  through  the  shadows  as  Heaven  uttered  its 
awful  refusal  to  hear  them. 

The  doctor  turned  away  from  his  companions  in  crime 
and  distress,  and  took  a  few  steps  towards  the  gunwale. 
Reaching  the  side,  he  looked  into  space,  and  said,  in  a 
deep  voice :  "  Bist  du  bei  mir  ? "  Perchance  he  was 
addressing  some  phantom. 

The  wreck  was  sinking.  All  the  others  stood  as  in  a 
dream.  Prayer  mastered  them  by  main  force.  They 
not  only  knelt,  they  cowered.  There  was  something 
involuntary  in  their  contrition ;  they  wavered  as  a  sail 
flaps  when  the  breeze  fails.  And  the  haggard  group 
took  by  degrees,  with  clasping  of  hands  and  prostration 
of  foreheads,  various  attitudes  expressive  of  profound 
humiliation.  Some  strange  reflection  of  the  deep 
seemed  to  soften  their  villainous  features. 

The  doctor  returned  towards  them.  Whatever  his 
past  may  have  been,  the  old  man  was  truly  great  in  the 
presence  of  the  catastrophe.  He  was  not  a  man  to  be 
taken  unawares.  Brooding  over  him  was  the  calm  of 
a  silent  horror;  on  his  countenance  was  the  majesty  of 
God's  will  comprehended.  This  old  and  thoughtful 
outlaw  unconsciously  assumed  the  air  of  a  pontiff. 

"  Listen  to  me, "  he  said  solemnly.  He  contemplated 
the  waste  of  water  for  a  moment,  and  added :  "  We  are 
about  to  die !  " 

Then  he  took  the  torch  from  the  hands  of  Ave  Maria, 
and  waved  it.  A  spark  broke  from  it  and  flew  into  the 
night.  Then  the  doctor  cast  the  torch  into  the  sea.  It 
was   extinguished :   every  glimmer  of   light  had  disap- 


THE  HIGHEST  EESOURCE.  153 

peared.  Nothing  remained  but  the  dense,  unfathomable 
gloom.     It  was  like  the  very  grave  itself. 

In  the  darkness,  the  doctor  was  heard  saying :  "  Let 
us  pray. " 

All  knelt  down.  It  was  no  longer  on  the  snow,  but 
in  the  water,  that  they  knelt.  They  had  but  a  few 
minutes  more  to  live.  The  doctor  alone  remained 
standing.  The  flakes  of  snow  falliDg  on  him  had 
sprinkled  him  as  if  with  white  tears,  and  made  him 
plainly  visible  against  the  background  of  darkness.  He 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  raised  his  voice,  while 
beneath  his  feet  he  felt  that  almost  imperceptible  oscil- 
lation which  precedes  the  moment  in  which  a  wreck  is 
about  to  founder.     He  said  :  — 

"  Pater  noster  qui  es  in  coelis.  " 

"  Notre  Pere  qui  etes  aux  cieux, "  the  Provencal  re- 
peated in  French. 

"  Ar  nathair  ata  ar  neamh, "  repeated  the  Irish  woman 
in  Gaelic,  understood  by  the  Basque  woman. 

"  Sanctificetur  nomen  tuum, "  continued   the  doctor. 

"Que  votre  nom  soit  sanctifie", "  said  the  Provencal. 

"  Naomhthar  hainm, "  said  the  Irish  woman. 

"  Adveniat  regnum  tuum, "  continued  the  doctor. 

"  Que  votre  regne  arrive, "  said  the  Provencal. 

"  Tigeadh  do  rioghachd, "  said  the  Irish  woman. 

As  they  knelt,  the  water  had  risen  to  their  shoulders. 

"  Fiat  voluntas  tua,"  the  doctor  went  on. 

"  Que  votre  volonte*  soit  faite, "  stammered  the 
Provencal. 

"  Deuntar  do  thoil  ar  an  Hhalamb, "  cried  the  Irish 
woman  and  Basque  woman. 

"  Sicut  in  coelo,  sicut  in  terra, "  said  the  doctor. 

No  voice  answered  him.  He  looked  down.  Every 
head  was  under  water.  They  had  allowed  themselves 
to  be  drowned  on  their  knees. 


154  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

The  doctor  took  in  his  right  hand  the  flask  which  he 
had  placed  on  the  companion-way  and  raised  it  high 
above  his  head.  The  wreck  was  going  down.  As  he 
sank,  the  doctor  murmured  the  rest  of  the  prayer.  For 
an  instant  his  shoulders  were  above  water;  then  his 
head;  then  nothing  remained  but  his  arm  holding  up 
the  flask,  as  if  he  were  showing  it  to  the  Infinite.  Then 
his  arm  disappeared ;  there  was  no  more  of  a  ripple  on 
the  sea  than  there  would  have  been  on  a  cask  of  oil. 
The  snow  continued  to  fall. 

One  thing  floated,  and  was  carried  by  the  waves  into 
the  darkness.  It  was  the  tarred  flask,  kept  afloat  by  its 
osier  cover. 


BOOK    IIL 

THE  CHILD  IN  THE  SHADOW. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CHESIL. 

THE  storm  was  no  less  severe  on  land  than  on  sea. 
The  same  wild  strife  among  the  elements  had  taken 
place  around  the  abandoned  child.  The  weak  and  inno- 
cent become  their  sport  in  the  exhibitions  of  frantic  i  age 
in  which  they  sometimes  indulge.  Shadows  see  not, 
and  inanimate  things  have  not  the  clemency  they  are 
supposed  to  possess. 

On  the  land  there  was  but  little  wind ;  yet  there  was  an 
inexplicable  dumbness  in  the  cold.  There  was  no  hail ; 
but  the  thickness  of  the  falling  snow  was  fearful.  Hail- 
stones strike,  harass,  bruise,  stun,  crush ;  snow-flakes  do 
worse.  Soft  and  inexorable,  the  snow-flake  does  its 
work  in  silence.  Touch  it,  and  it  melts.  It  is  pure, 
even  as  the  hypocrite  is  candid.  It  is  by  tiny  particles 
slowly  heaped  one  upon  another  that  the  snow-flake 
becomes  an  avalanche  and  the  knave  a  criminal. 

The  child  continued  to  advance  in  the  mist:  mist, 
like  snow,  is  full  of  treachery.  Though  ill-fitted  to 
oope  with  all  these  perils,  he  had  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  bottom  of  the  descent,  and  had  gained  Chesil.  With, 
out  knowing  it  he  was  on  an  isthmus,  with  water  on 


156  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

either  side;  so  that  he  could  not  lose  his  way  in  the 
fog,  in  the  snow,  or  in  the  darkness,  without  falling 
into  the  deep  waters  of  the  gulf  on  the  right  hand, 
or  into  the  raging  billows  of  the  sea  on  the  left.  He 
was  travelling  on,  in  blissful  ignorance,  between  these 
two  abysses. 

The  Isthmus  of  Portland  was  at  that  time  extremely 
sharp  and  rugged.  No  sign  of  its  former  configuration 
remains  to-day.  Since  the  idea  of  manufacturing  Port- 
land stone  into  cement  was  first  conceived,  the  cliffs 
have  been  subjected  to  operations  which  have  com- 
pletely changed  their  original  appearance.  Calcareous 
lias,  slate,  and  trap  are  still  to  be  found  there,  rising 
from  layers  of  conglomerate  like  teeth  out  of  a  gum. 
But  the  pickaxe  has  broken  up  and  levelled  those  brist- 
ling, rugged  peaks  which  were  once  the  homes  of  the 
eagles.  The  summits  no  longer  exist  where  the  labbes 
and  the  skua  gulls  used  to  flock,  soaring,  like  the  envi- 
ous, to  sully  high  places.  In  vain  you  seek  the  tall 
monolith  called  Godolphin, —  an  .old  British  word  signi- 
fying "  white  eagle.  "  In  summer  you  may  still  gather  on 
these  cliffs  (pierced  and  perforated  like  a  sponge)  rose- 
mary, pennyroyal,  wild  hyssop,  and  sea-fennel,  which 
when  infused  makes  a  good  cordial,  and  that  herb  full 
of  knots,  which  grows  in  the  sand  and  from  which  they 
make  matting;  but  you  no  longer  find  grey  amber  or 
black  tin,  or  that  triple  species  of  slate,  —  one  sort 
green,  one  blue,  and  the  third  the  colour  of  sage -leaves. 
The  foxes,  the  badgers,  the  otters,  and  the  martens  have 
taken  themselves  off ;  on  the  cliffs  of  Portland,  as  well 
as  at  the  extremity  of  Cornwall,  where  there  were  at  one 
time  chamois,  none  remain.  The  people  still  fish  in 
some  inlets  for  plaice  and  pilchards;  but  the  shy 
salmon  no  longer  ascend  the  Wey,  between  Michaelmas 
and  Christmas,  to  spawn.     Nor  can  one  see   there,  as 


CHESIL.  157 

during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  those  nameless  birds  as 
large  as  hawks,  who  cut  an  apple  in  two,  but  ate  only 
the  pips.  You  never  meet  those  crows  with  yellow 
beaks,  called  in  English  Cornish  choughs  (pyrrocorax 
in  Latin),  who  mischievously  drop  burning  twigs  on 
thatched  roofs ;  nor  that  magic  bird  the  fulmar,  a 
wanderer  from  the  Scottish  archipelago,  dropping  from 
his  bill  an  oil  which  the  islanders  used  to  burn  in  their 
lamps.  Nor  do  you  ever  find  in  the  evening,  in  the 
plash  of  the  ebbing  tide,  that  ancient,  legendary  neitse, 
with  the  feet  of  a  hog  and  the  bleat  of  a  calf.  The  tide 
no  longer  throws  up  the  whiskered  seal,  with  its  curled 
ears  and  sharp  jaws,  dragging  itself  along  on  its  nailless 
paws.  On  the  Portland  cliffs,  so  changed  nowadays  as 
to  be  scarcely  recognizable  the  absence  of  forests  pre- 
cluded nightingales ;  and  now  the  falcon,  the  swan,  and 
the  wild  goose  have  fled.  The  sheep  of  Portland,  now- 
adays, are  fat  and  have  fine  wool;  the  few  scattered 
ewes  which  nibbled  the  salt  grass  there  two  centuries 
ago  were  small  and  tough,  and  coarse  of  fleece,  as  be- 
came Celtic  flocks  brought  there  by  garlic-eating  shep- 
herds who  lived  to  a  hundred,  and  who  at  the  distance 
of  half  a  mile  could  pierce  a  cuirass  with  their  yard-long 
arrows.     Uncultivated  land  makes  coarse  wool. 

The  Chesil  of  to-day  resembles  in  no  particular  the 
Chesil  of  the  past,  so  much  has  it  been  disturbed  by  man 
and  by  those  furious  winds  which  disintegrate  the  very 
stones.  The  Isthmus  of  Portland  two  hundred  years  ago 
was  a  huge  mound  of  sand,  with  a  vertebrated  spine 
of  rock.  At  present  this  tongue  of  land  bears  a  rail- 
way, terminating  in  a  pretty  cluster  of  houses,  called 
Chesilton,  and  there  is  a  Portland  station.  Eailway 
carriages  roll  where  seals  used  to  crawl. 

The  child's  danger  had  now  assumed  a  different  form. 
What  he  had  had  to  fear  in  the  descent  of  the  cliff  was 


158  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

falling  to  the  bottom  of  the  precipice ;  in  the  isthmus, 
his  fear  was  of  falling  into  the  holes.  After  contending 
with  the  precipice,  he  had  now  to  contend  with  pitfalls. 
Everything  on  the  sea-shore  is  a  trap ;  the  rock  is  slip- 
pery, the  strand  is  full  of  quicksands.  Resting-places 
are  but  snares.  It  is  walking  on  ice  which  may  sud- 
denly crack  and  yawn  with  a  fissure,  through  which  you 
will  disappear.  The  ocean  has  false  stages  below,  like 
a  well-arranged  theatre. 

The  long  backbone  of  granite,  from  which  both  sides 
of  the  isthmus  slope,  is  difficult  of  access.  It  is  hard  to 
find  there  what,  in  scene-shifters'  language,  are  termed 
"  practicables.  "  Man  need  expect  no  hospitality  from 
the  ocean, —  from  the  rock  no  more  than  from  the  wave; 
the  sea  is  kind  to  the  bird  and  the  fish  alone.  Isthmuses 
are  especially  bare  and  rugged ;  the  wave,  which  wears 
and  undermines  them  on  either  side,  reduces  them  to 
the  simplest  form.  Everywhere  there  were  sharp 
ridges,  cuttings,  frightful  fragments  of  torn  stone 
yawning  with  many  points  like  the  jaws  of  a  shark, 
breakneck  places  of  wet  moss,  rapid  slopes  of  rock  end- 
ing in  the  sea.  Whosoever  undertakes  to  cross  an  isth- 
mus encounters  at  every  step  huge  blocks  of  stone  as 
large  as  houses,  in  the  shape  of  shin-bones,  shoulder- 
blades,  and  thigh-bones,  —  the  hideous  anatomy  of  dis- 
membered rocks.  It  is  not  without  reason  that  these 
striae  of  the  sea-shore  are  called  ribs.  The  wayfarer 
must  escape  as  he  best  can  out  of  the  confusion  of 
these  ruins.  It  is  like  journeying  over  the  bones  of 
an  enormous  skeleton. 

Imagine  a  child  put  to  this  Herculean  task !  Broad 
daylight  might  have  aided  him ;  but  it  was  night.  A 
guide  was  necessary  ;  but  he  was  alone.  All  the  vigour 
of  manhood  would  not  have  been  too  much ;  but  he  had 
only  the  feeble  strength  of  a  child.     In  default  of   a 


CHESIL.  159 

guide,  a  footpath  might  have  aided  him ;  but  there  was 
none.  By  instinct  he  avoided  the  sharp  ridge  of  rock, 
and  kept  as  near  the  strand  as  possible.  It  was  there 
that  he  met  with  the  pitfalls.  They  were  multiplied 
before  him  under  three  forms, —  the  pitfall  of  water,  the 
pitfall  of  snow,  and  the  pitfall  of  sand.  This  last  is  the 
most  dangerous  of  all,  because  the  most  deceptive.  To 
know  the  peril  we  face  is  alarming ;  to  be  ignorant  of  it 
is  terrible.  The  child  was  fighting  against  unknown 
dangers ;  he  was  groping  his  way  through  something 
which  might  perhaps  prove  to  be  his  grave.  But  he 
did  not  hesitate.  He  went  round  the  rocks,  avoided 
the  crevices,  guessed  at  the  pitfalls,  and  followed  the 
twistings  and  turnings  caused  by  such  obstacles ;  yet  he 
went  on.  Though  unable  to  advance  in  a  straight  line, 
he  walked  with  a  firm  tread.  He  patiently  retraced  his 
steps  if  necessary ;  he  managed  to  tear  himself  in  time 
from  the  horrid  bird-lime  of  the  quicksands ;  he  shook 
the  snow  off  him ;  more  than  once  he  entered  the  water 
up  to  the  knees,  and  directly  he  left  it  his  wet  knees 
were  frozen  by  the  intense  cold  of  the  night;  he  walked 
rapidly  in  his  stiffened  garments,  yet  he  took  care  to 
keep  his  sailor's  coat  dry  and  warm  on  his  chest.  He 
was  still  tormented  by  hunger. 

The  chances  of  the  abyss  are  illimitable.  Everything 
is  possible  in  it,  even  salvation ;  an  issue  may  be  found, 
though  it  be  invisible.  How  the  child,  wrapped  in  a 
smothering  winding-sheet  of  snow,  lost  on  a  narrow 
elevation  between  two  jaws  of  an  abyss,  managed  to 
cross  the  isthmus  is  something  he  could  not  himself 
have  explained.  He  slipped,  climbed,  rolled,  searched, 
walked,  persevered,  —  that  is  all ;  that,  indeed,  is  the 
secret  of  all  triumphs.  At  the  end  of  less  than  half  an 
hour  he  felt  that  the  ground  was  rising.  He  had  reached 
the  other  shore.     Leaving  Chesil,  he  had  gained  terra 


160  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Jlrma.  The  bridge  which  now  unites  Sandford  Castle 
with  Smallmouth  Sands  did  not  then  exist.  It  is 
probable  that  in  his  gropings  he  had  re-ascended  as  far 
as  Wyke  Kegis,  where  there  was  then  a  tongue  of  sand, 
a  natural  road  crossing  East  Fleet. 

The  isthmus  lay  behind  the  child  now ;  but  he  found 
himself  still  face  to  face  with  the  tempest,  with  the 
cold,  and  with  the  night.  Before  him  stretched  the 
plain,  shrouded  in  impenetrable  gloom.  He  examined 
the  ground,  seeking  a  footpath.  Suddenly  he  bent 
down :  he  had  discovered  in  the  snow  something  that 
looked  like  a  track.  It  was  indeed  a  track,  —  the  im- 
print of  a  foot.  The  print  was  clearly  cut  in  the  white- 
ness of  the  snow,  which  rendered  it  distinctly  visible. 
He  examined  it.  It  was  a  naked  foot;  too  small  for 
that  of  a  man,  too  large  for  that  of  a  child.  It  was 
probably  the  foot  of  a  woman.  Beyond  that  mark  was 
another,  then  another  and  another.  The  footprints 
followed  one  another  at  the  distance  of  a  step,  and 
struck  across  the  plain  to  the  right.  They  were  still 
fresh,  and  but  slighty  covered  with  snow.  A  woman 
had  just  passed  that  way.  This  woman  was  walking  in 
the  direction  where  the  child  had  seen  the  smoke.  With 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  footprints,  he  set  to  work  to  follow 
them. 


CHAPTER  IL 

THE   EFFECT   OF   SNOW. 

THE  child  followed  in  this  track  for  some  time ;  but 
unfortunately  the  footprints  became  more  and  more 
indistinct,  for  the  snow  was  falling  thick  and  fast.  It 
was  at  the  very  same  time  that  the  hooker  was  encoun- 
tering the  furious  snow-storm  at  sea.  The  child,  in 
distress  like  the  vessel,  but  in  a  different  fashion,  had, 
in  the  inextricable  confusion  of  shadows  that  rose  up 
before  him,  no  guide  but  the  footsteps  in  the  snow,  and 
he  held  to  it  as  the  thread  of  the  labyrinth. 

Suddenly,  whether  the  snow  had  filled  them  up  en- 
tirely, or  for  some  other  reason,  the  footsteps  ceased 
All  became  even,  level,  smooth,  without  a  stain,  with- 
out an  irregularity.  There  was  now  nothing  but  a 
white  mantle  drawn  over  the  earth,  and  a  black  one 
over  the  sky.  It  seemed  as  if  the  pedestrian  must 
have  flown  away.  The  child,  in  despair,  bent  down 
and  searched ;  but  in  vain.  As  he  arose  he  fancied  that 
he  heard  some  indistinct  sound,  but  he  could  not  be 
sure  of  it.  It  resembled  a  voice,  a  breath,  a  shadow ;  it 
was  more  human  than  animal,  more  sepulchral  than 
living.  It  was  not  a  sound,  but  rather  the  shadow  of 
a  sound.  He  looked,  but  saw  nothing.  Solitude,  wide 
and  naked,  stretched  before  him.  He  listened :  that 
which  he  had  thought  he  heard  had  faded  away.  Per- 
haps it  had  been   only  fancy.     He   still   listened :   all 

VOL.  XIX.  —  11 


162  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

was  silent.     He  went  on  his  way  again,  walking  on  at 
random,  with  nothing  thenceforth  to  guide  him. 

As   the   child  moved  away   the   noise   began   again. 
This  time  he  could  doubt  no  longer.     It  was  a  groan, 
almost  a  sob.     He  turned  and  peered  eagerly  into  the 
darkness,  but  saw  nothing.     The  sound  arose  once  more. 
It  was  the   most  penetrating  and   piercing,  yet   feeble 
voice  imaginable,  for  it  certainly  was  a  voice.     It  arose 
from  a   soul.     There  was   a  strange  palpitation    in  the 
murmur ;  nevertheless,  it  seemed  uttered  almost  uncon- 
sciously.    It  was  an  appeal  from  some  one  in  suffering, 
and  yet  from  some  one  who  was  scarcely  conscious  of 
that  suffering  or  the  appeal  for  relief.     The  cry  —  per- 
haps a  first  breath,  perhaps  a  last  sigh  —  was  equally 
removed  from  the  rattle  which  ends  life  and  the  wail 
with  which  it  commences.     It  breathed  a  gloomy  sup- 
plication from  the  depths  of  night.     The  child  gazed 
intently  everywhere, —  far,  near,  on  high,  below.    There 
was   no  one   in  sight.     He  listened.     The  voice   arose 
again ;  he   heard   it  distinctly.     The  sound   somewhat 
Tesembled  the  bleating  of  a  lamb.     Then  he  was  fright- 
ened, and  thought  for  an  instant  of  flight.     The  sound 
arose  again  ;  this  was  the  fourth  time.     It  was  strangely 
miserable  and  plaintive ;   one    felt  that  after  that  last 
effort,  which  was  more  mechanical  than  voluntary,  the 
cry  would  probably  be  extinguished.      It  was  an  expir- 
ing exclamation,  instinctively  appealing  to  the  amount 
of  aid   lying  dormant  in  space.      It  was   an  agonized 
appeal  to  a  possible  Providence. 

The  child  advanced  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
sound  seemed  to  proceed.  Still  he  saw  nothing.  He 
advanced  again,  watchfully.  The  wail  continued;  in- 
articulate and  confused  as  it  was,  it  had  become  clear, 
almost  vibrating.  The  child  was  near  the  voice ;  but 
where  was   it?    While  he   was  hesitating  between  aa 


THE  EFFECT  OF  SNOW.  163 

impulse  which  urged  him  to  fly  and  an  instinct  which 
commanded  him  to  remain,  he  perceived  in  the  snow  at 
his  feet,  a  few  steps  before  him,  a  sort  of  undulation  of 
the  dimensions  of  a  human  body,  a  little  eminence,  low, 
long,  and  narrow,  like  the  mound  over  a  grave,  —  a 
sepulchre  in  a  white  church-yard.  At  the  same  time 
the  voice  cried  out  again.  It  was  from  beneath  the 
undulation  that  it  proceeded.  The  child  crouched  down 
beside  the  undulation,  and  with  both  his  hands  began 
to  clear  it  away.  Beneath  the  snow  which  he  removed 
the  lines  of  a  human  form  soon  became  visible,  and 
suddenly  in  the  hollow  he  had  made  a  pale  face 
appeared. 

The  cry  had  not  proceeded  from  this  face,  for  the  eyes 
were  shut,  and  the  mouth,  though  open,  was  full  of 
snow.  The  form  remained  motionless ;  it  stirred  not 
under  the  benumbed  hands  of  the  child.  He  shuddered 
when  he  touched  it.  It  was  a  woman's  form.  Her 
dishevelled  hair  was  mingled  with  the  snow ;  she  was 
dead. 

Again  the  child  set  to  work  to  brush  away  the  snow. 
The  neck  of  the  dead  woman  appeared ;  then  her  shoul- 
ders, clothed  in  rags.  Suddenly  he  felt  something  move 
feebly  under  his  touch.  It  was  something  small  that 
was  buried,  and  that  stirred.  The  child  swiftly  cleared 
away  the  snow,  revealing  a  wretched  little  body  —  thin, 
and  icy  cold,  but  still  alive  —  lying  naked  on  the  dead 
woman's  naked  breast.     It  was  a  little  girl. 

It  had  been  swaddled  up,  but  in  rags  so  scanty  that 
in  its  struggles  it  had  freed  itself  from  its  tatters.  Its 
attenuated  limbs,  which  yet  contained  a  little  warmth, 
and  its  feeble  breath,  had  somewhat  melted  the  snow. 
A  nurse  would  have  said  that  the  baby  was  five  or  six 
months  old ;  but  perhaps  it  might  be  a  year  old,  for 
growth,  in  poverty,  suffers  deplorable  drawbacks,  which 


164  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

sometimes  even  produce  rachitis.  When  the  baby's  face 
was  exposed  to  the  air  it  gave  a  cry,  the  continuation  of 
its  moan  of  distress.  For  the  mother  not  to  have  heard 
that  sob  proved  her  irrevocably  dead.  The  child  took 
the  infant  in  his  arms. 

The  stiffened  body  of  the  mother  was  a  fearful  sight 
A  spectral  light  seemed  to  proceed  from  her  face.  Her 
parted,  breathless  lips  seemed  to  be  forming  in  the 
mysterious  language  of  shadows  her  answer  to  the  ques- 
tions put  to  the  dead  by  the  Invisible.  The  ghastly 
reflection  of  the  icy  plains  was  on  her  countenance. 
There  was  a  youthful  forehead  under  the  brown  hair, 
an  almost  indignant  knitting  of  the  eyebrows,  pinched 
nostrils,  closed  eyelids,  the  lashes  glued  together  by  the 
rime,  and  from  the  corners  of  the  eyes  to  the  corners  of 
the  mouth  extended  a  channel  of  frozen  tears.  The 
snow  lighted  up  the  corpse.  Winter  and  death  are  not 
unlike ;  the  corpse  is  a  human  circle.  The  nakedness 
of  the  dead  woman's  breasts  was  pathetic.  They  had 
fulfilled  their  purpose.  On  them  was  a  sublime  blight 
of  the  life  infused  into  one  being  by  another  from  whom 
life  has  fled,  and  maternal  majesty  was  there  instead  of 
virginal  purity.  At  the  point  of  one  of  the  nipples  was 
a  white  pearl.      It  was  a  drop  of  frozen  milk. 

Let  us  explain  at  once.  On  the  plain  over  which  the 
deserted  boy  was  passing  a  beggar  woman,  nursing  her 
infant  and  searching  for  a  refuge,  had  lost  her  way  a 
few  hours  before.  Benumbed  with  cold  she  had  fallen 
on  the  snow,  and  was  unable  to  rise  again.  The  fall- 
ing snow  covered  her.  As  long  as  she  was  able  she 
had  clasped  her  little  girl  to  her  bosom ;  and  thus  she 
died. 

The  infant  had  tried  to  suck  the  marble  breast  of  the 
mother.  Blind  trust,  inspired  by  Nature ;  for  it  seems 
that  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  to  suckle  her  child  even 


THE  EFFECT  OF  SNOW.  165 

after  her  last  sigh.  But  the  lips  of  the  infant  had  been 
unable  to  find  the  breast  where  the  drop  of  milk  had 
frozen,  while  under  the  snow  the  child,  more  accustomed 
to  the  cradle  than  the  tomb,  had  wailed  despairingly. 
The  deserted  child  had  heard  the  cry  of  the  dying  child. 
He  disinterred  it.     He  took  it  in  his  arms. 

When  the  infant  found  herself  in  his  arms  she  ceased 
crying.  The  faces  of  the  two  children  touched  each 
other,  and  the  purple  lips  of  the  infant  sought  the 
cheek  of  the  boy,  as  it  had  been  a  breast.  The  little 
girl  had  nearly  reached  the  moment  when  the  congealed 
blood  stops  the  action  of  the  heart.  Her  mother  had 
touched  her  with  the  chill  of  death,  for  a  corpse  com- 
municates death ;  its  numbness  is  infectious.  The  in- 
fant's feet,  hands,  arms,  knees,  seemed  paralyzed  by 
cold.  The  boy  felt  the  terrible  chill.  He  had  on  him 
one  garment  dry  and  warm, —  his  pilot  jacket.  He 
placed  the  infant  on  the  breast  of  the  corpse,  took  off 
his  jacket,  wrapped  the  infant  in  it,  which  he  took  up 
again  in  his  arms ;  and  then,  almost  naked,  under  the 
blast  of  the  north  wind  which  covered  him  with  eddies 
of  snow-flakes,  carrying  the  infant,  he  continued  his 
journey.  The  little  one  having  succeeded  in  again  find- 
ing the  boy's  cheek,  again  applied  her  lips  to  it;  and, 
soothed  by  the  warmth,  she  fell  asleep.  First  kiss  of 
those  two  souls  in  the  darkness ! 

The  mother  lay  there  on  her  back  upon  the  snow,  her 
face  turned  up  to  the  night ;  but  perhaps  at  the  moment 
when  the  boy  stripped  himself  to  clothe  the  little  girl, 
the  mother  saw  him  from  the  depths  of  infinity. 


CHAPTEE    III. 

A  BURDEN   MAKES   A   ROUGH   ROAD   ROUGHER, 

IT  was  little  more  than  four  hours  since  the  hooker 
sailed  from  the  creek  of  Portland,  leaving  the  boy 
on  the  shore.  During  the  long  hours  since  he  had  been 
deserted,  and  had  been  journeying  onwards,  he  had  met 
but  three  persons  of  that  human  society  into  which  he 
was,  perchance,  about  to  enter, —  a  man  (the  man  on 
the  hill),  a  woman  (the  woman  in  the  snow),  and  the 
little  girl  whom  he  was  carrying  in  his  arms.  He  was 
exhausted  by  fatigue  and  hunger,  yet  advanced  more 
resolutely  than  ever,  though  with  less  strength  and  an 
added  burden.  He  was  now  almost  naked.  The  few 
rags  which  remained  upon  him,  hardened  by  the  frost, 
were  sharp  as  glass,  and  cut  his  skin.  He  was  colder, 
but  the  infant  was  warmer.  That  which  he  lost  was 
not  thrown  away,  but  was  gained  by  her.  He  found 
»;hat  the  poor  infant  enjoyed  the  comfort,  which  to  her 
Was  a  renewal  of  life.  He  continued  to  advance.  From 
time  to  time,  still  holding  his  burden  securely,  he  bent 
down,  and  taking  a  handful  of  snow  rubbed  his  feet 
with  it,  to  prevent  their  being  frost-bitten.  At  other 
times,  his  throat  feeling  as  if  it  were  on  fire,  he  put  a 
little  snow  in  his  mouth  and  sucked  it;  this  for  a 
moment  assuaged  his  thirst,  but  later  changed  it  into- 
fever,  —  a  relief  which  proved  only  an  aggravation. 

The    storm    had   become    appalling    in    its    violence. 
Deluges  of  snow  are  possible ;  this  was  one.     The  tem- 


« 

A  BURDEN  MAKES  A  ROUGH  ROAD  ROUGHER.       167 

pest  scourged  the  shore  at  the  same  time  that  it  up-tore 
the  depths  of  ocean.  This  was,  perhaps,  the  very- 
moment  when  the  distracted  hooker  was  going  to  pieces 
in  its  battle  with  the  breakers. 

The  boy  travelled  on  in  this  cutting  north  wind,  still 
towards  the  east,  over  wide  surfaces  of  snow.  He  knew 
not  how  the  hours  passed.  For  a  long  time  he  had 
ceased  to  see  the  smoke.  Such  indications  are  soon 
effaced  in  the  night;  besides,  it  was  long  past  the  hour 
when  fires  are  put  out.  He  had,  perhaps,  made  a  mis- 
take, and  it  was  possible  that  neither  town  nor  village 
existed  in  the  direction  in  which  he  was  travelling. 
Doubting,  he  yet  persevered.  Two  or  three  times  the 
little  infant  cried,  at  which  times  he  adopted  in  hi& 
gait  a  rocking  movement,  and  the  girl  was  soothed  and 
silenced;  she  ended  by  falling  into  a  sound  sleep. 
Shivering  himself,  he  felt  to  see  if  she  were  warm, 
and  frequently  tightened  the  folds  of  the  jacket  round 
her  neck,  so  that  the  frost  could  not  get  in  through  any 
opening,  and  so  that  no  melted  snow  should  drop  be- 
tween the  garment  and  the  child.  The  plain  was  un- 
equal ;  in  the  declivities  into  which  it  sloped,  the  snow, 
drifted  by  the  wind,  was  so  deep  that  it  almost  ingulfed 
him,  and  he  had  to  struggle  through  it,  half  buried.  He 
walked  on,  however,  working  away  the  snow  with  his 
knees.  Having  passed  the  ravine,  he  reached  the  high 
lands  swept  by  the  winds,  where  the  snow  was  thin. 
There  he  found  the  surface  a  sheet  of  ice.  The  little 
girl's  lukewarm  breath,  playing  on  his  face,  warmed  it 
for  a  moment,  then  froze  in  his  hair,  stiffening  it  into 
icicles. 

The  boy  now  felt  the  approach  of  another  danger  He 
did  not  dare  to  sit  down  and  rest;  Lr  he  knew  that  if 
he  did  so  he  would  never  rise  agaiA.  He  was  overcome 
by  fatigue,  and  even  the  weight  o\  the  snow  would,  as 


V 

168  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

in  the  case  of  the  dead  woman,  have  held  him  to  the 
ground,  while  the  ice  would  have  glued  him  alive  to  the 
earth.  He  had  tripped  on  the  sides  of  precipices,  and 
had  recovered  himself ;  he  had  stumbled  into  holes,  and 
got  out  again, —  but  now  the  slightest  fall  would  be 
death ;  a  false  step  would  prove  fatal.  He  must  not  slip  ; 
yet  everything  was  slippery ;  everywhere  there  was  rime 
and  frozen  snow.  The  little  creature  whom  he  carried 
made  his  progress  fearfully  difficult ;  she  was  not  only 
a  burden  which  his  weariness  and  exhaustion  made 
excessive,  but  was  also  an  encumbrance  in  that  she 
occupied  both  his  arms, —  and  to  him  who  walks  over 
ice,  arms  serve  as  a  natural  and  necessary  balancing-pole. 
The  boy  was  obliged  to  do  without  this  balance-pole. 
He  did  do  without  it  and  advanced,  bending  under  his 
burden,  not  knowing  what  would  become  of  him.  The 
infant  that  he  carried  was  the  drop  causing  the  cup  of 
distress  to  overflow ;  yet  he  advanced,  reeling  at  every 
step,  and  accomplishing,  without  spectators,  miracles 
of  equilibrium. 

Without  spectators  ?  We  repeat  that  unseen  eyes 
perhaps  watched  him  on  this  perilous  path, —  the  eyes 
of  the  mother  and  the  eyes  of  God ! 

The  boy  staggered,  slipped,  recovered  himself,  tight- 
ened his  hold  on  the  infant,  and  drawing  the  jacket 
closer  about  her  covered  her  head  with  it,  and  staggered 
on  again.  He  was,  to  all  appearance,  on  the  plains 
where  Bincleaves  Farm  was  afterwards  established, 
between  what  are  now  called  Spring  Gardens  and  the 
Parsonage  House.  Homesteads  and  cottages  now  stand 
upon  what  was  then  a  barren  waste.  Sometimes  less 
than  a  century  changes  a  steppe  into  a  city. 

Suddenly,  a  lull  having  occurred  in  the  icy  blast 
which  was  blinding  him,  the  boy  perceived,  at  a  short 
distance   in   front  of  him,    a   cluster  of  roofs   and   of 


A  BURDEN  MAKES  A  ROUGH  ROAD  ROUGHER.      169 

chimneys,  the  reverse  of  a  silhouette,  —  a  city  painted 
in  white  on  a  black  horizon,  something  like  what  we 
call  nowadays  a  negative  proof.  EooEs!  dwellings' 
shelter!  He  had  arrived  somewhere  at  last;  he  felt 
the  ineffable  encouragement  of  hope.  The  watch  of  a 
ship  which  has  wandered  from  her  course  feels  some  such 
emotion  when  he  cries,  "  Land  ho !  "  He  quickened  his 
pace.  He  would  soon  be  among  living  creatures ;  there 
was  no  longer  anything  to  fear.  There  glowed  within 
him  a  sudden  warmth, —  security;  his  terrible  ordeal 
was  nearly  over;  thenceforward  there  would  be  neither 
night  nor  winter  nor  tempest.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had  left  all  such  misery  behind  him.  The  infant 
was  no  longer  a  burden ;  he  almost  ran.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  roofs :  there  was  life  there ;  he  never  took 
his  eyes  off  them.  A  dead  man  might  gaze  thus  on 
what  was  visible  through  the  half-open  cover  of  his 
sepulchre.  There  were  the  chimneys  of  which  he  had 
seen  the  smoke ;  no  smoke  arose  from  them  now. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  boy  reached  the  houses. 
He  came  to  the  outskirts  of  a  town, —  an  open  street. 
At  that  period  the  barring  of  streets  at  night  had  been 
nearly  abandoned.  The  street  began  by  two  houses. 
In  those  two  houses  neither  candle  nor  lamp  was  visi- 
ble; nor  in  the  whole  street,  nor  in  the  whole  town, 
as  far  as  eye  could  reach.  The  house  to  the  right  was 
a  roof  rather  than  a  house ;  nothing  could  be  more 
squalid.  The  walls  were  of  mud,  the  roof  was  of  straw, 
and  there  was  more  thatch  than  wall.  An  immense 
nettle,  springing  from  the  bottom  of  the  wall,  reached 
up  to  the  roof.  The  hovel  had  but  one  door,  whicli 
was  like  that  of  a  dog-kennel,  and  a  window  which  was 
but  a  hole.  Both  were  shut  up ;  but  at  the  side  an  in- 
habited pig-sty  told  that  the  house  also  was  inhabited. 
The  house  on  the  left  was  large,  high,  and  built  entirely 


170  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

of  stone,  with  a  slated  roof.  That  too  was  closed;  it 
was  the  rich  man's  home,  opposite  that  of  the  pauper. 

The  boy  did  not  hesitate ;  he  approached  the  great 
mansion.  The  double  door  of  massive  oak,  studded 
with  large  nails,  was  of  the  kind  that  leads  one  to 
expect  that  behind  it  there  is  an  armory  of  bolts  and 
locks.  An  iron  knocker  was  attached  to  it.  He  raised 
the  knocker  with  some  difficulty,  for  his  benumbed 
hands  were  stumps  rather  than  hands,  and  knocked 
once.  No  answer.  He  knocked  again,  —  twice  this 
time ;  no  movement  was  heard  in  the  house.  He 
knocked  a  third  time ;  still  there  was  no  sound.  He 
saw  that  they  were  all  asleep,  or  did  not  mean  to  get 
up.  Then  he  turned  to  the  hovel.  He  picked  a  small 
stone  out  of  the  snow,  and  knocked  with  it  against  the 
low  door ;  there  was  no  answer  He  raised  himself  on 
tiptoe,  and  knocked  with  his  stone  against  the  pane, — 
too  softly  to  break  the  glass,  but  loud  enough  to  be 
heard ;  no  voice  was  heard,  no  step  moved,  no  candle 
was  lighted.  He  saw  that  there,  as  well,  they  did  not 
care  to  awake.  The  house  of  stone  and  the  thatched 
hovel  were  equally  deaf  to  the  appeal  of  the  wretched. 

The  boy  decided  to  push  on  farther,  and  make  his 
way  down  the  street  in  front  of  him, —  a  street  so  dark 
that  it  seemed  more  like  a  gulf  between  two  cliffs  than 
the  entrance  to  a  town. 


CHAPTEK   IV. 

ANOTHER   KIND   OF  DESERT. 

IT  was  Weymouth  which  the  boy  had  just  entered. 
Weymouth  then  was  not  the  respectable  and  fine 
Weymouth  of  to-day. 

Ancient  Weymouth  could  not  boast,  like  the  present 
one,  of  an  irreproachable  rectangular  quay,  with  an  inn 
and  a  statue  in  honour  of  George  III., —  and  this  owing 
to  the  fact  that  George  III.  had  not  then  been  born. 
For  the  same  reason,  they  had  not  yet  fashioned  on  the 
side  of  the  green  hill  to  the  east,  by  cutting  away  the 
turf  and  leaving  the  chalky  soil  exposed  to  the  view, 
the  "  White  Horse, "  an  acre  long,  bearing  the  king 
upon  his  back, —  still  another  work  of  art  in  honour  of 
George  III.  These  honours,  however,  were  deserved. 
George  III. ,  having  lost  in  his  old  age  the  mind  he  had 
never  possessed  in  his  youth,  was  not  responsible  for  the 
calamities  of  his  reign.  He  was  little  better  than  an 
idiot.     So  why  not  erect  statues  to  him? 

Weymouth,  a  hundred  and  eighty  years  ago,  was 
about  as  symmetrical  as  a  game  of  spillikins  in  confu- 
sion. In  legends  it  is  said  that  Astaroth  travelled  about 
the  world,  carrying  on  her  back  a  wallet  which  con- 
tained everything,  even  good  women  in  their  houses. 
A  goodly  number  of  sheds  thrown  pell-mell  from  her 
bag  would  give  an  idea  of  quaint  old  Weymouth, —  the 
good  women  in  the  sheds  included.  The  Music  Hall 
remains  as  a  specimen  of  the  buildings  of  that    day 


172  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

The  whole  town  was  composed  of  shapeless,  overhanging 
buildings, —  some  with  pillars,  leaning  one  against  the 
other  for  support  against  the  sea-wind,  and  leaving 
between  them  narrow  and  winding  lanes  and  passages, 
often  flooded  by  the  equinoctial  tides.  A  heap  of  grand- 
mother houses  crowded  round  a  grandfather  church,  such 
was  Weymouth ;  a  sort  of  old  Norman  village  washed 
ashore  on  the  coast  of  England.  The  traveller  who 
entered  the  tavern,  now  replaced  by  the  hotel,  instead 
of  paying  his  twenty-five  francs  for  a  fried  sole  and  a 
bottle  of  wine,  had  to  suffer  the  humiliation  of  eating 
a  pennyworth  of  soup  made  of  fish, —  which  soup,  by- 
the-bye,  was  very  good.     Wretched  fare ! 

The  deserted  child,  carrying  the  foundling,  passed 
through  the  first  street,  then  the  second,  then  the 
third.  He  raised  his  eyes,  seeking  in  the  upper  stories 
and  in  the  roofs  a  lighted  window-pane ;  but  all  were 
closed  and  dark.  At  intervals  he  knocked  at  the  doors. 
No  one  answered.  Nothing  so  hardens  the  heart  as  for 
its  owner  to  be  snug  and  warm  in  bed.  The  noise  and 
the  shaking  had  at  last  awakened  the  infant.  The  boy 
knew  this  because  he  felt  her  suck  his  cheek.  She  did 
not  cry,  believing  him  her  mother.  He  was  about  to 
turn  and  wander  through  the  Scrambridge  lanes,  where 
there  were  then  more  cultivated  plots  than  dwellings, 
more  thorn-hedges  than  houses ;  but  fortunately  he 
struck  into  a  passage  which  exists  to  this  day  near  the 
Trinity  schools.  This  passage  led  him  to  the  water's 
edge,  where  there  was  a  roughly  built  quay  with  a 
parapet,  and  on  the  right  he  made  out  a  bridge.  It 
was  the  bridge  over  the  Wey,  connecting  Weymouth 
with  Melcombe  Regis,  and  under  the  arches  of  which 
the  Backwater  communicates  with  the  harbour. 

Weymouth,  a  hamlet,  was  then  a  suburb  of  Melcombe 
Regis,  a  city  and  port ;  now  Melcombe  Regis  is  a  parish 


ANOTHER  KIND  OF  DESERT.  173 

of  Weymouth.  The  village  has  absorbed  the  city.  It 
was  the  bridge  which  did  the  work.  Bridges  are  strange 
instruments  of  suction,  which  absorb  a  population,  and 
often  swell  one  river-bank  at  the  expense  of  its  opposite 
neighbour. 

The  boy  went  to  the  bridge,  which  at  that  period  was 
a  covered  wooden  structure.  He  crossed  it.  Thanks  to 
its  roofing,  there  was  no  snow  on  the  planks ;  his  bare 
feet  had  a  moment's  comfort  as  they  crossed  them. 
Having  passed  over  the  bridge,  he  was  in  Melcombe 
Eegis.  There  were  fewer  wooden  houses  than  stone  ones 
there.  He  was  no  longer  in  the  village,  he  was  in  the 
city.  The  bridge  opened  on  a  rather  fine  street  called  St. 
Thomas's  Street;  he  entered  it.  Here  and  there  were 
high  carved  gables  and  shop-fronts.  He  set  to  knocking  at 
the  doors  again :  he  had  no  strength  left  to  call  or  shout. 

At  Melcombe  Eegis,  as  at  Weymouth,  no  one  was 
stirring.  The  doors  were  all  carefully  locked  and 
barred;  the  windows  were  covered  with  shutters. 
Every  precaution  had  been  taken  to  avoid  being 
aroused  by  disagreeable  surprises.  The  little  wanderer 
was  suffering  the  indefinable  depression  caused  by  a 
sleeping  town.  Sleep  has  gloomy  associates  beyond 
this  life :  the  decomposed  thoughts  of  the  sleepers 
float  above  them  in  a  mist  and  combine  with  the 
possible,  which  perhaps  has  also  the  power  of  thought, 
as  it  floats  in  space.  Hence  comes  bewilderment. 
Dreams,  which  may  be  compared  to  clouds,  interpose 
their  folds  and  their  transparencies  over  that  star,  the 
mind.  Above  those  closed  eyelids,  where  vision  has 
taken  the  place  of  sight,  a  sepulchral  disintegration  of 
outlines  and  appearances  dilates  itself  into  impalpabil- 
ity. Mysterious  and  diffused  existences  amalgamate 
themselves  with  life  in  sleep,  that  counterpart  of  death. 
Even  he  who  sleeps  not,  feels  a  medium  full  of  sinister 


174  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

life  press  upon  him.  The  surrounding  chimera,  in  which 
he  suspects  a  reality,  impedes  him.  The  waking  man, 
wending  his  way  amidst  the  sleep-phantoms  of  others, 
has,  or  imagines  that  he  has,  a  vague  fear  of  contact 
with  the  invisible,  and  feels  at  every  moment  the 
obscure  pressure  of  a  hostile  encounter  which  immedi- 
ately dissolves.  A  sleeping  town  has  something  of  the 
effect  of  a  forest. 

This  is  what  is  called  being  afraid  without  cause. 
Very  naturally,  a  child  is  even  more  susceptible  to  this 
feeling  than  a  man.  The  uneasiness  of  nocturnal  fear, 
increased  by  the  spectral  houses,  increased  the  weight 
of  the  burden  under  which  the  boy  was  struggling.  He 
entered  Conycar  Lane,  and  perceived  at  the  end  of  that 
passage  the  Backwater,  which  he  mistook  for  the 
ocean ;  he  no  longer  knew  in  what  direction  the  sea  lay. 
He  retraced  his  steps,  struck  to  the  left  by  Maiden 
Street,  and  returned  as  far  as  St.  Alban's  Row.  There 
he  knocked  violently  at  any  house  that  he  happened  to 
pass.  His  blows,  on  which  he  was  expending  his  last 
energies,  were  faint  and  irregular, —  now  ceasing  for  a 
time,  now  renewed  as  if  in  irritation.  One  voice 
answered, —  that  of  Time.  Three  o'clock  tolled  slowly 
behind  him  from  the  old  belfry  of  St.  Nicholas.  Then 
silence  reigned  again. 

That  no  inhabitant  should  have  opened  his  lattice 
may  appear  surprising.  But  we  must  remember  that  in 
January,  1790,  they  were  just  over  a  severe  outbreak  of 
the  plague  in  London,  and  that  the  fear  of  receiving  sick 
vagabonds  caused  a  diminution  of  hospitality  every- 
where. People  would  not  even  open  their  windows 
for  fear  of  inhaling  the  poison. 

The  boy  felt  the  coldness  of  men  more  deeply  than 
the  coldness  of  the  night.  The  coldness  of  men  is  in- 
tentional.    He  felt  a  sinking  of  heart  which  he  had  not 


ANOTHER  KIND  OF  DESERT.  175 

experienced  on  the  plain.  Now  he  had  entered  into 
the  midst  of  life,  and  yet  remained  alone.  This  was 
the  height  of  misery.  He  had  understood  the  pitiless 
desert,  but  the  unrelenting  town  was  too  much  to  bear. 
The  hour,  the  strokes  of  which  he  had  just  counted, 
had  been  another  blow.  It  seemed  to  be  a  declaration 
of  indifference,  and  as  if  Eternity  were  saying,  "  What 
does  it  matter  to  me  ?  "  He  stopped,  and  it  is  probable 
that  in  that  miserable  minute  he  asked  himself  whether 
it  would  not  be  better  to  lie  down  there  and  die ;  but 
the  little  girl  leaned  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  and 
fell  asleep  again.  This  blind  confidence  drove  him  on 
once  more.  He  whom  all  supports  were  failing  felt  that 
he  was  himself  a  basis  of  support.  Irresistible  sum- 
mons of  duty !  Neither  such  ideas  nor  such  a  situation 
belonged  to  his  age.  It  is  probable  that  he  did  not  well 
understand  them ;  it  was  merely  a  matter  of  instinct. 
He  set  out  in  the  direction  of  Johnstone  Eow.  But 
now  he  no  longer  walked ;  he  dragged  himself  along. 
He  left  St.  Mary's  Street  to  the  left,  made  zig-zags 
through  lanes,  and  at  the  end  of  a  winding  passage 
found  himself  in  a  rather  wide,  open  space.  It  was 
apiece  of  unimproved  land,  —  probably  the  spot  where 
Chesterfield  Place  now  stands.  The  houses  ended  there. 
He  perceived  the  sea  on  his  right,  and  scarcely  anything 
more  of  the  town  on  his  left. 

What  would  become  of  him  ?  Here  was  the  country 
again !  To  the  east  great  inclined  planes  of  snow  indi- 
cated the  wide  slopes  of  Eadipole.  Should  he  continue 
his  journey ;  should  he  advance  and  re-enter  the  soli- 
tude ,  or  should  he  turn  back  and  re-enter  the  town. 
How  was  he  to  choose  between  the  mute  plain  and  the 
deaf  city  ?  The  pooT  little  despairing  wanderer  cast  a 
piteous  glance  around  him. 

Suddenly  he  heard  an  ominous  sound. 


CHAPTEK  V. 

MISANTHROPY   PLAYS   ITS    PRANKS. 

A  STRANGE  and  alarming  grinding  of  teeth  reached 
the  boy  through  the  darkness.  It  was  enough  to 
drive  one  back;  but  he  advanced.  To  those  to  whom 
silence  has  become  dreadful,  even  a  howl  is  comfort- 
ing. That  fierce  growl  reassured  him ;  that  threat  was  a 
promise.  There  must  be  some  creature  alive  and  awake 
there,  though  it  might  be  a  wild  beast.  He  advanced 
in  the  direction  whence  the  snarl  had  come. 

The  boy  turned  the  corner  of  a  wall,  and,  behind  it, 
in  the  sepulchral  light  made  by  the  reflection  of  snow 
and  sea,  he  saw  a  thing  placed  as  if  for  shelter.  It  was 
a  cart ;  that  is,  unless  it  was  a  hovel.  It  had  wheels, 
so  it  was  a  carriage ;  it  had  a  roof,  so  it  was  a  dwelling. 
Prom  the  roof  arose  a  funnel,  and  out  of  the  funnel 
came  smoke.  This  smoke  was  red,  and  seemed  to  im- 
ply a  good  fire  in  the  interior.  Behind,  projecting 
hinges  indicated  a  door ;  and  in  the  centre  of  this  door 
a  square  opening  revealed  a  light  inside  the  van. 

The  boy  approached.  The  creature  that  had  growled 
evidently  perceived  his  approach,  and  became  furious. 
It  was  no  longer  a  growl  which  he  had  to  encounter,  it 
was  a  roar.  He  heard  a  sharp  sound,  as  of  a  chain 
violently  pulled  to  its  full  length ;  and  suddenly  under 
the  door,  between  the  hind  wheels,  two  rows  of  sharp 
white  teeth  appeared.  At  the  same  instant  a  head  wag 
put  through  the  window. 


MISANTHROPY  PLAYS  ITS  PRANKS  177 

Be  quiet  there !  "  said  the  head. 

The  mouth  was  silent.     The  head  began  again :  — - 

"  Is  anybody  there  ?  " 

"  Yes, "  the  child  answered. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  ■ 

"Me." 

"  You  ?    Who  are  you  ?    Where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  I  am  tired, "  said  the  child. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  cold.  " 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

*  I  am  hungry.  " 

"  Every  one  cannot  be  as  happy  as  a  lord, "  the  head 
replied.     "  Go  awa^y. " 

The   head   was    withdrawn   and   the  window  closed. 

The  boy  folded  the  sleeping  infant  closer  in  his  arms, 
and  summoned  up  all  his  strength  to  resume  his  jour- 
ney ;  he  had  already  taken  a  few  steps,  and  was  hurrying 
away.  But  as  the  window  of  the  wagon  closed,  the 
door  opened ;  a  step  was  let  down,  and  the  voice  which 
had  spoken  to  the  boy  cried  out  angrily  from  the  interior 
of  the  van, — 

"  Well !  why  don't  you  come  in  ?  " 

The  boy  turned  back. 

"  Come  in, "  resumed  the  voice.  "  Who  ever  heard  of 
a  fellow  like  this, —  a  fellow  who  is  hungry  and  cold, 
and  yet  who  does  not  come  in  ?  " 

The  boy,  at  once  repulsed  and  invited,  stood 
motionless. 

"  You  are  told  to  come  in,  you  young  rascal, "  the 
voice  continued. 

The  boy  made  up  his  mind,  and  placed  one  foot  on 
the  lowest  step.  There  was  a  loud  growl  from  under 
the  van.  The  boy  drew  back;  the  gaping  jaws  had 
reappeared. 

VOL.  XIX.  — 12 


178  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

"  Be  quiet !  "  cried  the  voice  of  the  man. 

The  jaws  retreated,  the  growling  ceased. 

"  Come  up !  "  continued  the  man. 

The  boy  with  some  difficulty  climbed  up  the  three 
steps,  his  movements  being  impeded  by  the  infant  that 
was  so  completely  enveloped  in  the  jacket  that  nothing 
could  be  distinguished  of  her,  and  she  was  little  more 
than  a  shapeless  bundle.  He  ascended  the  three  steps ; 
and  having  reached  the  threshold,  stopped.  There  was 
no  light  in  the  van  except  that  which  proceeded  from 
the  opening  at  the  top  of  the  stove,  in  which  sparkled 
a  peat  fire.  On  the  stove  stood  a  porringer  and  a  sauce- 
pan, apparently  containing  something  to  eat,  for  a 
savory  odour  was  perceptible.  The  inside  was  fur- 
nished with  a  chest,  a  stool,  and  an  unlighted  lantern 
which  hung  from  the  ceiling.  There  were  also  a  num- 
ber of  hooks  on  the  walls,  from  which  all  sorts  of 
things  hung ;  and  there  were  shelves  upon  which  stood 
rows  of  glasses  and  bottles,  a  granulator,  an  alembic, 
and  other  chemical  instruments,  as  well  as  cooking 
utensils.  The  van  was  oblong  in  shape,  the  stove 
being  in  front.  It  was  not  even  a  little  room  into 
which  the  boy  entered, —  it  was  only  a  big  box.  There 
was  more  light  outside  from  the  snow  than  inside  from 
the  stove.  Everything  in  the  van  was  indistinct  and 
misty ;  nevertheless,  the  reflection  of  the  fire  on  the 
ceiling  enabled  the  spectator  to  read  in  large  letters, — 

URSUS,    PHILOSOPHER. 

The  boy,  in  fact  was  entering  the  abode  of  Homo  and 
Ursus.  It  was  the  former  that  he  had  just  heard  growl- 
ing. Having  reached  the  threshold,  he  perceived  near 
the  stove  a  tall,  smooth-faced,  thin  old  man  dressed  in 
grey,  whose  head,  as  he  stood  erect,  touched  the  roof. 


MISANTHROPY  PLAYS  ITS  PRANKS.  179 

The  man  could  not  have  raised  himself  on  tiptoe.     The 
van  was  just  his  height. 

"  Come  in!t"  said  the  man,  who  was  Ursus.  The  boy- 
entered. 

"  Put  down  your  bundle.  " 

The  boy  placed  his  burden  carefully  on  the  top  of  the 
chest,  for  fear  of  awakening  and  terrifying  his  charge. 

The  man  continued :  "  How  gently  you  put  it  down ! 
You  could  not  be  more  careful  if  it  were  a  case  of  relics. 
Are  you  afraid  of  tearing  a  hole  in  your  rags  ?  What 
are  you  doing  in  the  streets  at  this  hour,  you  vagabond  ? 
"Who  are  you  ?  Answer !  But,  no ;  I  forbid  you  to  an- 
swer. You  are  cold ;  warm  yourself  as  quick  as  you 
can, "  and  he  shoved  him  by  the  shoulders  in  front  of 
the  fire. 

"  How  wet  you  are !  You're  frozen  through !  A  nice 
state  you  are  in  to  enter  a  man's  house!  Take  off 
those  rags,  you  villain !  "  and  as  he  hastily  tore  off  the 
boy's  rags  with  one  hand,  with  the  other  he  took  down 
from  a  nail  a  man's  shirt,  and  one  of  those  knitted 
jackets  which  are  up  to  this  day  called  kiss-me-quicks. 
"  Here  are  some  clothes, "  he  added  gruffly.  He  picked 
up  a  woollen  rag,  and  chafed  before  the  fire  the  limbs 
of  the  exhausted  and  bewildered  child,  who  at  that 
moment  felt  as  if  he  were  seeing  and  touching  heaven. 
The  limbs  having  been  rubbed,  the  man  next  wiped  the 
boy's  feet. 

"  You  're  all  right !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  was  fool 
enough  to  fancy  you  had  frozen  your  hind-legs  or 
fore-paws.  You  will  not  lose  the  use  of  them  this 
time.     Dress  yourself !  " 

The  boy  put  on  the  shirt,  and  the  man  slipped  the 
knitted  jacket  over  it. 

"  Now  —  "  The  man  pushed  the  stool  forward  and 
made  the  boy  sit  down ;  then  he  pointed  with  his  finger 


180  THE  MAN  WHO    LAUGHS. 

to  the  porringer  which  was  smoking  upon  the  stove. 
What  the  child  saw  in  the  porringer  was  again  heaven 
to  him, —  namely,  a  potato  and  a  bit  of  bacon. 

"  You  are  hungry  —  eat!"  said  the  man;  and  he  took 
from  the  shelf  a  crust  of  bread  and  an  iron  fork,  and 
handed  them  to  the  child. 

The  boy  hesitated. 

"Perhaps  you  expect  me  to  lay  the  cloth,"  said  the 
man,  as  he  placed  the  porringer  on  the  child's  lap. 
"  Gobble  that  up !  he  exclaimed  imperiously. 

Hunger  overcame  astonishment.  The  boy  began  to 
eat.     He  devoured  rather  than  ate  the  food. 

"  Not  so  fast,  you  horrid  glutton ! "  grumbled  the 
man.  "  Is  n't  he  a  greedy  scoundrel  ?  When  such  scum 
are  hungry,  they  eat  in  a  revolting  fashion.  You 
should  see  a  lord  sup.  In  my  time,  I  have  seen  dukes 
eat;  they  don't  eat  like  the  common  herd.  They  drink, 
however.     Come,  you  pig !  stuff  yourself !  " 

The  deafness  which  is  the  concomitant  of  a  hungry 
gtomach  caused  the  child  to  take  little  heed  of  these 
violent  epithets,  tempered  as  they  were  by  such  benefi- 
cent charity  of  action.  For  the  moment  he  was  absorbed 
by  two  ecstasies, —  food  and  warmth. 

Ursus  continued  his  imprecations,  muttering  to  him- 
self :  "  I  have  seen  King  James  supping  in  proprid 
jpersond,  in  the  Banqueting  House,  adorned  with  the 
paintings  of  the  famous  Eubens.  His  Majesty  touched 
nothing.  This  beggar  here  gorges  himself.  What  put 
it  into  my  head  to  come  to  this  Weymouth,  seven  times 
devoted  to  the  infernal  deities  ?  I  have  sold  nothing 
since  morning ;  I  have  harangued  the  snow ;  I  have 
played  the  flute  to  the  hurricane ;  I  have  not  pocketed 
a  farthing ;  and  now,  to-night,  beggars  drop  in.  Horrid 
place!  There  is  battle,  struggle,  competition  between 
the   fools  in  the  street  and  myself.     They  try  to  give 


MISANTHROPY  PLAYS  ITS  PRANKS.  181 

me  nothing  but  farthings.  I  try  to  give  them  nothing 
but  drugs.  Well!  to-day  I  've  made  nothing, —  not  an 
idiot  on  the  highway;  not  a  penny  in  the  till.  Eat 
away,  hell-born  boy !  tear  and  crunch !  We  have 
fallen  on  times  when  nothing  can  equal  the  cynicism 
of  spongers.  Fatten  at  my  expense,  parasite !  This 
wretched  boy  is  more  than  hungry ;  his  is  not  appetite, 
it  is  ferocity.  Perhaps  he  has  the  plague.  Have  you  the 
plague,  you  thief  ?  Suppose  he  were  to  give  it  to  Homo ! 
No,  never !  Let  the  populace  die,  but  not  my  wolf. 
By-the-bye,  I  am  hungry  myself.  I  declare,  all  this 
is  very  disagreeable.  I  have  worked  far  into  the  night. 
There  are  times  in  a  man's  life  when  he  is  hard  pressed ; 
I  was  to-night,  by  hunger.  I  was  alone.  I  made  a  fire. 
I  had  but  one  potato,  one  crust  of  bread,  a  mouthful  of 
bacon,  and  a  drop  of  milk,  and  I  put  it  to  warm.  I 
said  to  myself,  '  How  good  it  smells ! '  I  fancy  I  am 
going  to  eat,  when  lo  and  behold !  this  crocodile  drops  in 
at  the  very  moment ;  he  installs  himself  between  my 
food  and  myself.  See  how  my  larder  is  devastated ! 
Eat,  pike !  eat,  you  shark !  How  many  teeth  have  you 
in  your  jaws  ?  Guzzle,  wolf-cub  !  —  no,  I  withdraw  that 
word ;  I  respect  wolves.  Swallow  up  my  food,  you  boa ! 
I  have  worked  all  day,  and  far  into  the  night,  on  an 
empty  stomach ;  my  throat  is  sore ;  my  pancreas  is  in 
distress ;  my  entrails  are  torn ;  and  my  reward  is  to  see 
another  eat !  'T  is  all  one,  though.  We  will  divide. 
He  shall  have  the  bread,  the  potato,  and  the  bacon,  but 
I  will  have  the  milk. " 

Just  then  a  wail,  touching  and  prolonged,  arose  in 
the  hut.  The  man  listened.  "  You  cry,  sycophant ! 
Why  do  you  cry  ?  " 

The  boy  turned  towards  him ;  it  was  evident  that  it 
was  not  he  who  had  cried.  He  had  his  mouth  fulL 
Yet  the  cry  continued.     The  man  went  to  the  chest. 


182  THE   MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

"  So  it  is  your  bundle  that  wails !  Vale  of  Jehosha- 
phat !  Who  ever  heard  of  a  screeching  parcel !  What 
the  devil  has  your  bundle  got  to  croak  about  ?  " 

He  unrolled  the  jacket;  an  infant's  head  appeared, 
the  mouth  open  and  crying. 

"  Well !  Who  goes  there  ?  "  said  the  man.  "  Here  is 
another  of  them.  When  is  this  to  end  ?  Who  is  this ! 
To  arms !  Corporal,  call  out  the  guard !  Here  is  another 
intruder  in  the  camp!  What  have  you  brought  me, 
thief  ?  Don't  you  see  it  is  thirsty  ?  The  little  one  must 
have  a  drink.   So,  now,  I  shall  not  even  have  the  milk !  " 

He  took  down  from  the  things  lying  in  disorder  on 
the  shelf  a  roll  of  linen,  a  sponge,  and  a  phial,  mutter- 
ing savagely,  "  What  an  infernal  scrape  this  is !  "  Then 
he  looked  at  the  infant.  "  'T  is  a  girl !  one  can  tell  that 
by  her  scream ;  and  she  too  is  drenched  to  the  skin !  " 

He  dragged  off  as  he  had  done  from  the  boy  the  tatters 
in  which  the  infant  was  tied  up  rather  than  dressed,  and 
swathed  her  in  a  rag,  which  though  of  coarse  linen  was 
clean  and  dry.  This  rough  and  hurried  toilet  made  the 
infant  angry.  "  How  atrociously  she  screeches !  "  he 
exclaimed. 

He  bit  off  a  long  narrow  piece  of  sponge,  tore  from 
the  roll  a  square  piece  of  linen,  took  the  saucepan  con- 
taining the  milk  from  the  stove,  filled  the  bottle  with 
milk,  pushed  the  sponge  half-way  down  into  its  neck, 
covering  the  protruding  end  with  linen,  tied  it  with  a 
bit  of  thread,  applied  his  cheeks  to  the  phial  to  be  sure 
that  it  was  not  too  hot,  and  then  seizing  under  his  left 
arm  the  bewildered  infant  which  was  still  crying,  said : 

"  Come !  take  your  supper,  creature !  Let  me  suckle 
you,"  at  the  same  time  putting  the  neck  of  the  bottle 
to  its  mouth. 

The  little  infant  drank  greedily.  He  held  the  phial 
at"  the  necessary  incline,  grumbling, — 


MISANTHROPY  PLAYS  ITS  PRANKS.  183 

"  They  are  all  the  same,  the  cowards !  While  they  get 
all  they  want  they  are  quiet!  " 

The  child  drank  so  ravenously,  and  seized  so  eagerly 
this  breast  offered  by  a  cross-grained  Providence,  that 
she  was  taken  with  a  violent  fit  of  coughing. 

"  You  are  going  to  choke !  "  growled  Ursus.  "A  fine 
gobbler  this  one  is  too !  * 

He  drew  away  the  sponge  which  she  was  sucking, 
allowed  the  cough  to  subside,  and  then  replaced  the 
phial  to  her  lips,  saying,  "  Suck !  you  little  wretch  !  " 

In  the  mean  time  the  boy  had  laid  down  his  fork. 
Seeing  the  infant  drink  made  him  forget  to  eat.  The 
moment  before,  while  he  ate,  the  expression  on  his  face 
was  satisfaction;  now  it  was  gratitude.  He  watched 
the  infant's  renewal  of  life ;  and  the  completion  of  the 
restoration  begun  by  himself  filled  his  eyes  with  an  in- 
effable brilliancy.  Ursus  went  on  muttering  angry  words 
between  his  teeth.  The  boy  now  and  then  lifted  to  him 
eyes  moist  with  the  deep  emotion  which  the  poor  little 
being  felt,  but  was  unable  to  express. 

"  Eat,  eat,  I  tell  you !  "  Ursus  said  to  the  boy,  savagely. 

"  And  you  ?  "  said  the  boy,  trembling  all  over,  and 
with  tears  in  his  eyes, —  "you  will  have  nothing!" 

"  "Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  eat  it  all  up,  you  cub  ? 
As  there  was  not  enough  for  me,  there  cannot  be  too 
much  for  you.  " 

The  boy  took  up  his  fork,  but  did  not  eat. 

"  Eat !  "  shouted  Ursus.  "  What  have  you  to  do  with 
me?  Who  speaks  of  me?  Wretched  little  barefooted 
clerk  of  Poverty  Parish!  eat  it  all  up,  I  tell  you! 
You  are  here  to  eat,  drink,  and  sleep;  eat,  or  I  will 
kick  you  out,  both  of  you.  " 

The  boy,  at  this  threat,  began  to  eat  again.  He  had 
not  much  trouble  in  finishing  what  was  left  in  the 
porringer. 


184  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Ursus  muttered  to  himself  now :  "  This  building  is 
badly  constructed.  The  cold  comes  in  through  that 
window-pane. " 

A  pane  had  indeed  been  broken  in  front,  either  by  a 
jolt  of  the  van  or  by  a  stone  thrown  by  some  mischiev- 
ous boy.  Ursus  had  placed  a  piece  of  paper  over  the 
fracture,  but  it  had  become  unpasted,  letting  in  the 
wind  again.  He  was  seated  on  the  chest;  the  infant, 
cradled  in  his  arms,  was  sucking  rapturously  at  the 
bottle,  in  the  blissful  somnolency  of  cherubim  before 
their  Creator  and  infants  at  their  mothers'  breast. 

"  She  is  surfeited ! "  said  Ursus ;  and  he  added :  "  After 
this,  preach  sermons  on  temperance !  " 

The  wind  tore  from  the  pane  the  plaster  of  paper,  and 
blew  it  across  the  van ;  but  this  mattered  little  to  the 
children  who  were  entering  life  anew.  While  the  little 
girl  drank,  and  the  little  boy  ate,  Ursus  grumbled  to 
himself :  — 

"  Intemperance  begins  in  the  infant  in  swaddling 
clothes.  What  useless  trouble  Bishop  Tillotson  gives 
himself,  thundering  against  excessive  drinking!  — What 
an  odious  draught  of  wind !  and  then  my  stove  is  old, 
and  allows  enough  smoke  to  escape  to  give  you  trichi- 
asis. Fire  has  its  inconveniences  as  well  as  cold ;  one 
cannot  see  clearly.  —  That  creature  over  there  abuses  my 
hospitality.  Well,  I  have  not  been  able  to  distinguish 
the  animal's  face  yet.  —  Comfort  is  wanting  here.  By 
Jove !  I  am  a  great  admirer  of  exquisite  banquets  in  well 
closed  rooms !  I  have  missed  my  vocation  ;  I  was  born 
to  be  a  sensualist.  The  greatest  of  sages  was  Philoxenus, 
who  wished  to  possess  the  neck  of  a  crane,  in  order  to 
enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  table  longer. —  Eeceipts 
to-day,  naught;  nothing  sold  all  day.  Inhabitants, 
servants,  and  tradesmen,  here  is  the  doctor,  here  are  the 
drugs  I     You  are  losing  your  time,  old  friend ;  pack  up 


MISANTHROPY  PLAYS  ITS  PRANKS.  185 

your  physic, —  every  one  is  well,  down  here.  Accursed 
town,  where  everybody  is  well !  The  skies  alone  have 
diarrhcEa !  How  it  snows !  Anaxagoras  taught  that  the 
snow  was  black ;  and  he  was  right,  cold  being  black- 
ness :  ice  is  night.  What  a  hurricane !  I  can  fancy 
the  delight  of  those  at  sea.  A  hurricane  is  like  the 
passage  of  demons ;  it  is  the  row  the  tempest-fiends 
make  in  galloping  and  rolling  head-over-heels  over  our 
bone-boxes.  In  the  cloud  this  one  has  a  tail,  that  one 
has  horns,  another  a  flame  for  a  tongue,  another  claws 
to  its  wings,  another  a  lord  chancellor's  paunch,  another 
an  academician's  pate:  each  new  gust  is  a  fresh  demon. 
Zounds!  there  are  folks  at  sea,  that  is  certain.  My 
friends,  get  through  the  storm  as  best  you  can ;  I  have 
enough  to  do  to  get  through  life.  —  Come  now,  do  I  keep 
an  inn,  or  do  I  not  ?  Why  should  I  harbour  these  trav- 
ellers ?  The  universal  distress  sends  its  spatterings  even 
as  far  as  my  poverty ;  into  my  cabin  fall  hideous  drops 
of  the  far-spreading  scum  of  mankind.  I  am  the  victim 
of  the  voracity  of  travellers;  I  am  a  prey, —  the  prey  of 
those  dying  of  hunger.  Winter,  night,  a  pasteboard  hut, 
an  unfortunate  friend  below  and  without,  the  storm,  a 
potato,  a  fire  as  big  as  my  fist,  the  wind  penetrating 
through  every  cranny,  not  a  half-penny,  —  and  bun- 
dles are  brought  to  me  which  set  to  howling !  I  open 
them,  and  find  beggars  inside !  Is  this  fair  ?  Besides, 
the  laws  are  violated.  See,  a  vagabond  with  a  vagabond 
child !  Mischievous  pick-pocket,  evil-minded  abortion ! 
so  you  walk  the  streets  after  curfew  ?  If  our  good  king 
only  knew  it,  would  he  not  have  you  thrown  into  the 
bottom  of  a  ditch,  just  to  teach  you  better  ?  My  lord 
walks  out  at  night  with  my  lady,  with  the  thermometer 
at  fifteen  degrees  below  the  freezing-point,  bare-headed 
and  bare-footed.  You  should  understand  that  such 
things  are  forbidden.     There  are  rules  and  regulations, 


186  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

you  lawless  wretches !  Vagabonds  are  punished  ;  honest 
folks  who  have  houses  are  guarded  and  protected.  Kings 
are  the  fathers  of  their  people.  I  have  my  own  house. 
You  would  have  been  whipped  in  the  public  street  had 
you  chanced  to  have  been  met;  and  quite  right,  too. 
Order  must  be  maintained  in  a  city.  For  my  own  part, 
I  did  wrong  not  to  denounce  you  to  the  constable.  But  I 
am  such  a  fool !  I  understand  what  is  right  and  do  what 
is  wrong.  Oh,  the  ruffian  !  to  come  here  in  such  a  state ! 
I  did  not  see  the  snow  upon  them  when  they  came  in ; 
it  has  melted,  and  here's  my  whole  house  swamped.  I 
have  an  inundation  in  my  home.  I  shall  have  to  burn 
an  incredible  amount  of  coals  to  dry  up  this  lake, —  and 
coals  at  twelve  farthings,  the  miners'  standard!  How 
am  I  going  to  manage  to  fit  three  into  this  van  ?  My 
career  is  ended ;  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  now  but 
to  become  a  wet-nurse.  I  am  going  to  have  on  my 
hands  the  weaning  of  the  future  beggardom  of  England. 
It  seems  destined  to  be  my  employment,  office,  and 
function  to  bring  up  the  offspring  of  that  colossal  Pros- 
titute, Misery;  to  bring  to  perfection  future  gallows' 
birds,  and  teach  young  thieves  the  forms  of  philosophy. 
The  tongue  of  the  wolf  is  the  warning  of  God !  And  to 
think  that  if  I  had  not  been  eaten  up  by  creatures  of 
this  kind  for  the  last  thirty  years,  I  should  be  rich,  and 
Homo  would  be  fat ;  I  should  have  a  medicine-chest  full  of 
rarities,  as  many  surgical  instruments  as  Doctor  Linacre 
surgeon  to  King  Henry  VIII. ,  divers  animals  of  all  kinds, 
Egyptian  mummies  and  similar  curiosities ;  I  should  be 
a  member  of  the  College  of  Physicians,  and  have  the 
right  of  using  the  library  built  in  1652  by  the  cele- 
brated Hervey,  and  of  studying  in  the  lantern  of  that 
dome  whence  you  can  see  the  whole  of  London  ;  I  could 
continue  my  observations  of  solar  obfuscation,  and  prove 
that  a  caliginous  vapour  arises  from  the  planet.  —  Such 


MISANTHROPY  PLAYS  ITS  PRANKS.  187 

was  the  opinion  of  John  Kepler,  who  was  born  the  yeai 
before  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  who  was 
mathematician  to  the  emperor.  —  The  sun  is  a  chimney 
which  sometimes  smokes;  so  does  my  stove;  hence  my 
stove  is  as  good  as  the  sun.  Yes,  I  should  have  made 
my  fortune ;  my  career  would  have  been  a  very  different 
one.  I  should  not  be  the  insignificant  fellow  I  am.  I 
should  not  degrade  science  in  the  highways ;  for  the 
crowd  is  not  worthy  of  the  doctrine,  the  crowd  being 
nothing  better  than  a  confused  mixture  of  all  ages, 
sexes,  humours,  and  conditions  that  wise  men  of  all 
periods  have  not  hesitated  to  despise,  and  whose  absur- 
dities and  passions  are  detested  even  by  the  most  chari- 
table. Oh,  I  am  weary  of  existence !  After  all,  one  does 
not  live  long;  this  human  life  is  soon  over.  But  no, 
—  it  is  long.  At  intervals,  in  order  that  we  may  not 
become  too  discouraged,  and  that  we  may  have  the 
stupidity  to  consent  to  endure  existence,  and  not  profit 
by  the  magnificent  opportunities  to  hang  ourselves 
which  ropes  and  nails  afford,  Nature  pretends  to  take 
a  little  care  of  man  —  not  to-night,  though  !  The  rogue 
causes  the  wheat  to  spring  up,  ripens  the  grape,  gives 
song  to  the  nightingale.  From  time  to  time  we  get  a 
ray  of  sunshine  or  a  glass  of  gin, —  and  that  is  what  we 
call  happiness !  It  is  a  narrow  border  of  good  round  a 
huge  winding-sheet  of  evil.  We  have  a  destiny  of 
which  the  devil  has  woven  the  stuff,  and  God  has  sewn 
the  hem.  In  the  mean  time,  you  have  eaten  all  my 
supper  up,  you  thief !  " 

The  infant,  whom  he  was  holding  tenderly  in  his 
arms  all  the  while  he  was  vituperating  it,  shut  its  eyes 
languidly,  —  a  sign  of  repletion. 

Ursus  examined  the  phial,  and  grumbled  :  "  She  has 
drunk  it  all  up,  the  impudent  creature ! " 

He  arose,   and  holding  the   infant   in  his   left  arm, 


188  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

with  his  right  he  raised  the  lid  of  the  chest  and  drew 
out  a  bear-skin,  —  the  one  he  called  his  real  skin,  as 
the  reader  may  remember.  While  he  was  doing  this 
he  heard  the  other  child  eating,  and  glanced  at  him 
sideways. 

"  I  shall  have  my  hands  full  if  I  have  to  feed  that 
growing  glutton, "  he  muttered.  "  It  will  be  a  worm 
gnawing  at  the  vitals  of  my  industry. " 

He  spread  out,  still  with  one  arm,  the  bear-skin  on 
the  chest,  working  his  elbow  and  managing  his  move- 
ments so  as  not  to  disturb  the  sleep  into  which  the 
infant  was  just  sinking.  Then  he  laid  her  down  on 
the  fur,  on  the  side  of  the  chest  next  the  fire.  Having 
done  so,  he  placed  the  phial  on  the  stove,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  I  'm  confoundedly  thirsty  myself !  " 

He  looked  into  the  pot.  There  were  a  few  mouthfuls 
of  milk  left  in  it;  he  raised  it  to  his  lips.  As  he  was 
about  to  drink,  his  eye  fell  on  the  little  girl.  He  re- 
placed the  pot  on  the  stove,  took  the  phial,  uncorked  it, 
poured  into  it  all  the  milk  that  remained,  which  was 
just  sufficient  to  fill  it,  replaced  the  sponge  and  the 
linen  rag  over  it,  and  tied  it  round  the  neck  of  the 
bottle. 

"  I  'm  hungry  and  thirsty  all  the  same, "  he  observed. 
Then  he  added :  "  When  one  cannot  get  bread,  one  must 
drink  water. " 

Behind  the  stove  there  was  a  jug  with  the  spout 
broken  off.  He  took  it  and  handed  it  to  the  boy.  "  Do 
you  want  a  drink  ?  " 

The  boy  drank,  and  then  went  on  eating.  Ursus 
seized  the  pitcher  again,  and  raised  it  to  his  mouth. 
The  temperature  of  the  water  which  it  contained  had 
been  greatly  modified  by  the  proximity  of  the  stove. 
He  swallowed  a  mouthful  and  made  a  grimace.  Then 
he  said:  — 


MISANTHROPY  PLAYS  ITS  PRANKS.  189 

■  Water !  pretending  to  be  pure,  thou  resemblest  false 
friends.  Thou  art  warm  at  the  top  and  cold  at  the 
bottom. " 

In  the  mean  time  the  boy  had  finished  his  supper. 
The  porringer  was  more  than  empty;  it  was  cleaned 
out.  He  picked  up  and  ate  pensively  a  few  crumbs 
caught  in  the  folds  of  the  knitted  jacket  on  his  lap. 

Ursus  turned  towards  him.  "  Now,  a  word  with  you. 
The  mouth  is  not  made  only  for  eating ;  it  is  made  for 
speaking.  Now  that  you  are  warmed  and  stuffed,  you 
beast,  give  an  account  of  yourself.  You  are  going  to 
answer  my  questions.     Where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know, "  the  boy  replied. 

"  Why  do  you  say  you  don't  know?  " 

"  I  was  abandoned  this  evening  on  the  sea-shore. " 

"  You  little  scamp !  what 's  your  name  ?  He  is  so 
good  for  nothing  that  even  his  relatives  desert  him. " 

"  I  have  no  relatives.  " 

"  Have  a  care  !  I  don't  like  people  who  sing  a  tune 
of  fibs.  You  must  have  relatives,  since  you  have  a 
sister. " 

"  She  is  not  my  sister.  " 

"  She  is  not  your  sister  ?  " 

"  No. " 

"  Who  is  she  then  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  baby  that  I  found. " 

"Found?" 

"  Yes. " 

"  What !  did  you  pick  her  up  ?  " 

■  Yes. " 

"  Where  ?  If  you  lie  I  '11  thrash  you  within  an  inch 
of  your  life !  " 

"  I  found  her  on  the  breast  of  a  woman  who  was  lying 
dead  in  the  snow-  * 

"When?" 


190  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

*  About  an  hour  ago.  " 

u  Where  ?  " 

"  A  league  from  here.  " 

The  arched  brows  of  Ursus  contracted  and  assumed 
that  pointed  shape  which  characterizes  emotion  on  the 
brow  of  a  philosopher.  "  Dead !  Lucky  for  her !  We 
had  better  leave  her  in  the  snow.  She  is  better  off  there. 
In  which  direction  ?  " 

"  In  the  direction  of  the  sea. " 

"  Did  you  cross  the  bridge  ?  " 

"  Yes. " 

Ursus  opened  the  window  at  the  back  of  the  van  and 
looked  out.  The  weather  had  not  improved.  The  snow 
was  falling  thick  and  fast.  He  shut  the  window.  Then 
he  filled  the  broken  pane  with  a  rag,  heaped  the  stove 
with  peat,  spread  out  as  far  as  he  could  the  bear-skin 
on  the  chest,  took  a  large  book  which  he  had  in  a 
corner,  placed  it  under  the  skin  for  a  pillow,  and  laid 
the  head  of  the  sleeping  infant  on  it.  Then  he  turned 
to  the  boy. 

"  Lie  down  here, "  he  said. 

The  boy  obeyed,  and  stretched  himself  at  full  length 
by  the  side  of  the  infant.  Ursus  rolled  the  bear-skin 
over  the  two  children,  and  tucked  it  under  their  feet. 
He  took  down  from  a  shelf,  and  tied  round  his  waist, 
a  linen  belt  with  a  large  pocket  containing,  no  doubt, 
a  case  of  instruments  and  bottles  of  restoratives.  Then 
he  took  the  lantern  from  where  it  hung  on  the  ceiling, 
and  lighted  it.  It  was  a  dark-lantern.  When  lighted, 
it  still  left  the  children  in  shadow. 

Ursus  half  opened  the  door,  and  said :  "  I  am  going 
out ;  do  not  be  afraid.      I  shall  return.      Go  to  sleep.  " 

Then  letting  down  the  steps,  he  called  Homo.  He 
was  answered  by  a  loving  growl.  Ursus,  holding  the 
lantern  in   his   hand,    descended.     The   steps  were  re- 


MISANTHROPY  PLAYS  ITS  PRANKS.  191 

placed,  the  door  was  reclosed.     Tha  children  were  left 
alone. 

From  without,  a  voice,  the  voice  of  Ursus,  said : 
"  Say,  you,  boy,  who  have  just  eaten  up  my  supper,  are 
you  already  asleep  ?  " 

"  No, "  replied  the  child. 

"  Well,  if  she  cries,  give  her  the  rest  of  the  milk.  " 

The  clanking  of  a  chain  was  heard,  and  the  sound  of 
a  man's  footsteps,  mingled  with  the  soft  patter  of  an 
animal's  paws,  died  away  in  the  distance.  A  few 
minutes  after,  both  children  were  sound  asleep.  Such 
dreams  as  are  prone  to  visit  beings  of  that  age  floated 
from  one  to  the  other;  beneath  their  closed  eyelids 
there  shone,  perhaps,  the  light  of  the  spheres.  If  the 
word  "  marriage  "  were  not  inappropriate  to  the  situa- 
tion, they  were  husband  and  wife  after  the  fashion  of 
the  angels.  Such  innocence  in  such  darkness,  such  pur- 
ity in  such  an  embrace,  such  foretastes  of  heaven,  are 
possible  only  to  childhood,  and  no  immensity  ap- 
proaches the  greatness  of  little  children.  The  fearful 
perpetuity  of  the  dead  chained  beyond  life,  the  mighty 
animosity  of  the  ocean  to  a  wreck,  the  whiteness  of  the 
snow  over  buried  bodies,  do  not  equal  in  pathos  two 
children's  mouths  meeting  divinely  in  sleep, —  a  meet- 
ing which  is  not  even  a  kiss :  a  betrothal  perchance ; 
perchance  a  catastrophe.  The  unknown  overhangs  this 
juxtaposition.  It  charms,  it  terrifies,  —  who  knows 
which  ?  It  stays  the  pulse.  Innocence  is  greater  than 
virtue ;  innocence  is  holy  ignorance.  They  slept ;  they 
were  at  peace  ;  they  were  warm.  The  nakedness  of  their 
interlaced  bodies  imaged  the  virginity  of  their  souls. 
They  lay  there,  as  it  were,  on  the  bosom  of  the  infinite 
Father  of  all. 


CHAPTER  VL 

THE   AWAKING. 

A  SAD,  pale  light  penetrated  the  van.  It  was  the 
frozen  dawn.  That  wan  light  which  throws  into 
relief  the  mournful  reality  of  objects  that  are  blurred 
into  spectral  forms  by  the  night  did  not  waken  the 
children,  so  soundly  were  they  sleeping.  The  van  was 
warm.  Their  breathings  alternated  like  two  peaceful 
waves.  There  was  no  longer  any  hurricane  without. 
The  light  of  dawn  was  slowly  taking  possession  of  the 
horizon;  the  constellations  were  being  extinguished, 
like  candles  blown  out  one  after  the  other, —  only  a  few 
large  stars  resisted.  The  deep-toned  song  of  the  Infinite 
was  coming  from  the  sea.  The  fire  in  the  stove  was  not 
quite  out.  The  twilight  changed  gradually  into  day- 
light. 

The  boy  slept  less  heavily  than  the  girl.  At  length, 
a  ray  brighter  than  the  others  broke  through  the  pane, 
and  he  opened  his  eyes.  The  sleep  of  childhood  ends 
in  forgetfulness.  He  lay  in  a  state  of  semi-stupor, 
without  knowing  where  he  was  or  what  was  around 
him,  and  without  making  any  effort  to  remember, 
gazing  at  the  ceiling,  and  setting  himself  an  aimless 
task  as  he  dreamily  surveyed  the  letters  of  the  inscrip- 
tion, "  Ursus,  Philosopher, "  which,  as  he  did  not  know 
how  to  read,  he  examined  without  the  power  of  de- 
ciphering. The  sound  of  a  key  grating  in  the  lock  of 
the  door  caused  him  to  turn  his  head.     The  door  turned 


THE  AWAKING.  193 

on  its  hinges,  the  steps  were  let  down.  Ursus  was 
returning.  He  ascended  the  steps,  his  extinguished 
lantern  in  his  hand.  At  the  same  time  the  patter  of 
four  paws  was  heard  on  the  steps.  It  was  Homo,  fol- 
lowing Ursus,  who  had  also  returned  to  his  home. 

The  frightened  boy  gave  a  sudden  start  as  the  wolf 
opened  his  mouth,  disclosing  two  rows  of  glistening 
white  teeth.  The  animal  stopped  when  he  had  got 
half  way  up  the  steps,  and  placed  both  fore-paws  inside 
the  van,  leaning  on  the  threshold,  like  a  preacher  with 
his  elbows  on  the  edge  of  the  pulpit.  He  sniffed  at  the 
chest  from  afar,  not  being  in  the  habit  of  finding  it 
occupied  as  it  then  was.  At  last  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  enter.  The  boy,  seeing  the  wolf  in  the  van,  jumped 
out  of  the  bear-skin,  and  placed  himself  in  front  of  the 
infant,  who  was  sleeping  as  soundly  as  ever. 

Ursus  had  just  hung  the  lantern  up  on  the  nail  in  the 
ceiling.  Silently,  and  with  mechanical  deliberation, 
he  unbuckled  the  belt  which  held  his  case,  and  replaced 
it  on  the  shelf.  He  looked  at  nothing,  and  seemed  to 
see  nothing.  His  eyes  were  glassy.  Something  had 
evidently  moved  him  deeply.  His  thoughts  at  length 
found  vent,  as  usual,  in  a  rapid  flow  of  words. 

"  Better  off,  doubtless !  Dead !  stone  dead !  "  he 
soliloquized. 

He  bent  down,  and  put  a  shovelful  of  turf-mould  into 
the  stove ;  and  as  he  poked  the  peat,  he  growled  out : 

"  I  had  great  trouble  in  finding  her.  She  was  buried 
under  two  feet  of  snow.  Had  it  not  been  for  Homo, 
who  sees  as  clearly  with  his  nose  as  Christopher 
Columbus  did  with  his  mind,  I  should  still  be  there, 
digging  at  the  avalanche,  and  playing  hide-and-seek 
with  Death.  Diogenes  took  his  lantern  and  sought  for 
a  man;  I  took  my  lantern  and  sought  for  a  woman. 
He  found  a  sarcasm ;  I  found  mourning.     How  cold  she 

YOfc.  XIX.  — 13 


194  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

was!  I  touched  her  hand,  —  it  was  like  stone!  What 
silence  in  her  eyes !  How  can  any  one  be  such  a  fool 
as  to  die  and  leave  a  child  behind !  It  will  not  be  con- 
venient to  pack  three  into  this  box.  A  pretty  family 
I  have  now !     A  boy  and  a  girl ! " 

"While  Ursus  was  speaking,  Homo  sidled  up  close  to 
the  stove.  The  hand  of  the  sleeping  infant  was  hang- 
ing down  between  the  stove  and  the  chest.  The  wolf 
set  to  licking  it.  He  licked  it  so  softly  that  he  did  not 
wake  the  little  infant. 

Ursus  turned  round.  "  Well  done,  Homo !  I  shall  be 
father,  and  you  shall  be  uncle. " 

Then  he  betook  himself  again  to  mending  the  fire 
with  philosophical  care,  without  pausing  in  his  solilo- 
quy, however. 

■  Adoption !  It  is  settled ;  Homo  is  willing.  "  He 
drew  himself  up.  "  I  should  like  to  know  who  is  re- 
sponsible for  that  woman's  death?  Is  it  man?  or — " 
He  raised  his  eyes,  but  looked  beyond  the  ceiling, 
and  his  lips  murmured,  "  Is  it  Thou  ?  " 

Then  his  head  dropped,  as  if  beneath  a  burden.  Eais- 
ing  his  eyes  a  moment  afterwards  they  met  those  of  the 
just-awakened  boy,  who  was  listening. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  "  Ursus  demanded 
abruptly. 

"  I  am  not  laughing, "  replied  the  boy. 

Ursus  looked  at  him  intently  for  a  few  minutes. 
"  Then  you  are  frightful  to  look  upon !  "  he  exclaimed. 

The  interior  of  the  van,  on  the  previous  night,  had  been 
so  dark  that  Ursus  had  not  seen  the  boy's  face  at  all. 
The  broad  daylight  revealed  it.  He  placed  the  palms 
of  his  hands  on  the  two  shoulders  of  the  boy,  and,  ex- 
amining his  countenance  more  and  more  piercingly, 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Do  not  laugh  any  more ! " 


THE  AWAKING.  195 

"lam  not  laughing, "  said  the  child. 

Ursus  shuddered  from  head  to  foot.  "  You  are  laugh- 
ing, I  say  !  "  Then  seizing  the  boy  with  a  grasp  which 
would  have  been  one  of  fury  had  it  not  been  one  of 
pity,  he  asked  him,  roughly :  "  Who  did  that  to 
you?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean, "  the  boy  replied. 

"  How  long  have  you  had  that  laugh  ? " 

"  I  have  always  been  thus, "  said  the  child. 

Ursus  turned  away,  saying  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  thought 
that  work  was  out  of  date  now. " 

He  took  from  under  the  head  of  the  infant,  very  softly, 
so  as  not  to  awaken  her,  the  book  which  he  had  placed 
there  for  a  pillow.  "  Let  us  see  Conquest, "  he  mur- 
mured ! 

He  turned  the  pages  with  his  thumb,  stopped  at  a  cer- 
tain one,  and  read  :  '"De  Denasatis, '  it  is  here. "  And 
he  continued :  "  '  Bucca  fissa  usque  ad  aures,  gengivis 
denudatis,  nasoque  murdridato,  masca  eris,  et  ridebis 
semper. '     There  it  is  for  certain. " 

Then  he  replaced  the  book  on  one  of  the  shelves, 
growling,  "  It  might  not  be  advisable  to  inquire  too 
deeply  into  a  case  of  the  kind.  We  will  remain  on  the 
surface ;  laugh  on,  my  boy !  " 

Just  then  the  little  girl  awoke.  Her  good-day  was 
a  cry. 

"  Come,  nurse,  give  her  the  breast, "  said  Ursus. 

The  infant  sat  up.  Ursus  taking  the  bottle  from  the 
stove,  gave  it  to  her  to  suck.  Then  the  sun  rose  above 
the  horizon.  Its  brilliant  rays  shone  through  the  win- 
dow straight  into  the  face  of  the  infant,  which  was 
turned  towards  it.  Her  eyeballs,  fixed  on  the  sun,  re- 
flected its  light  like  two  mirrors.  The  eyeballs  were 
immovable,  the  eyelids  also. 

"  Look ! "   exclaimed  Ursus ;  "  she  is  blind  I " 


pakt  n. 

BY  ORDER  OF  THE.  KING. 


BOOK    I. 


THE  EVERLASTING  PRESENCE  OF  THE  PAST- 
MAN  REFLECTS   MAN. 


CHAPTER   I. 

LORD   CLANCHARLIE. 


THERE  was,  in  those  days,  an  old  tradition.  That 
tradition  was  Lord  Linnaeus  Clancharlie.  Linnaeus 
Baron  Clancharlie,  a  contemporary  of  Cromwell,  was  one 
of  the  few  peers  of  England  who  accepted  the  republic. 
The  reason  of  his  acceptance  of  it  might,  for  want  of  a 
better,  be  found  in  the  fact  that  for  the  time  being  the 
republic  was  triumphant.  It  was  a  matter  of  course 
that  Lord  Clancharlie  should  adhere  to  the  republic  as 
long  as  the  republic  was  in  power ;  but  after  the  close  of 
the  revolution  and  the  fall  of  the  parliamentary  govern- 
ment, Lord  Clancharlie  had  persisted  in  his  fidelity  to 
it.  It  would  have  been  easy  for  the  noble  patrician  to 
re-enter  the  reconstituted  upper  house,  —  the  repentant 
being  ever  gladly  welcomed  at  restorations,  and  Charles 
II.  being  a  kind  prince  enough  to  those  who  returned  to 
their  allegiance  to  him ;  but  Lord  Clancharlie  had  quite 


LORD  CLANCHARLIE.  197 

failed  to  understand  what  one  owes  to  circumstances. 
While  the  nation  was  overwhelming  with  acclamations 
the  king  who  had  come  to  resume  possession  of  Eng- 
land ;  while  a  united  parliament  was  recording  its  verdict ; 
while  the  people  were  rapturously  saluting  the  monarchy  j 
while  the  dynasty  was  rising  anew  amidst  a  glorious 
and  triumphant  recantation,  —  at  the  moment  when  the 
past  was  becoming  the  future,  and  the  future  was  be- 
coming the  past,  that  nobleman  remained  obdurate.  He 
turned  his  head  resolutely  away  from  all  these  tempta- 
tions and  voluntarily  exiled  himself.  Though  he  might 
have  been  a  peer,  he  preferred  being  an  outlaw.  Years 
had  passed,  and  he  had  grown  old  in  his  fidelity  to  the 
dead  republic,  and  was  therefore  loaded  with  the  ridicule 
which  is  the  natural  reward  of  such  folly. 

Lord  Clancharlie  had  retired  to  Switzerland,  where  he 
inhabited  a  sort  of  lofty  ruin  on  the  banks  of  Lake 
Geneva.  He  had  chosen  his  abode  in  the  most  rugged 
nook  of  the  lake,  between  Chillon,  Bonnivard's  dungeon, 
and  Vevay,  Ludlow's  burial-place.  The  rugged  Alps, 
filled  with  winds  and  clouds,  were  around  him :  and  he 
lived  there,  hidden  in  the  wide  shadows  cast  by  the 
mountains.  He  was  rarely  seen  by  any  one.  The  man 
was  out  of  his  country,  almost  out  of  his  century.  At 
that  time  no  resistance  to  the  established  power  was 
considered  justifiable.  England  was  happy.  A  restora- 
tion is  like  the  reconciliation  of  husband  and  wife ; 
prince  and  nation  return  to  each  other,  —  no  state  of 
things  can  be  more  gracious  or  more  pleasant.  Great 
Britain  beamed  with  joy ;  to  have  a  king  at  all  was  a 
great  deal ;  but  it  was  a  great  deal  more  to  have  such  a 
charming  one.  Charles  II.  was  an  amiable  man,  fond 
of  pleasure,  yet  able  to  govern ;  a  great  man,  too,  —  at 
least  in  the  opinion  of  Louis  XIV.  He  was  essentially  a 
gentleman.     Charles  II.  was  greatly  admired  by  his  sub- 


198  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

jects.  He  made  war  upon  Hanover  for  reasons  best 
known  to  himself ;  at  least,  no  one  else  knew  them.  He 
sold  Dunkirk  to  France,  —  a  piece  of  State  policy.  The 
Whig  peers,  concerning  whom  Chamberlain  says,  "  The 
cursed  republic  had  infected  with  its  stinking  breath 
several  of  the  high  nobility, "  had  had  the  good  sense  to 
bow  to  the  inevitable,  to  conform  to  the  times,  and  to 
resume  their  seats  in  the  House  of  Lords.  To  do  so,  it 
sufficed  that  they  should  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to 
the  king.  When  one  thinks  of  all  this,  the  glorious 
reign,  the  excellent  king,  the  august  princes  given  back 
by  divine  mercy  to  the  people's  love ;  when  one  remem- 
bers that  such  persons  as  Monk,  and  later  on  Jetferies, 
had  rallied  round  the  throne ;  that  they  had  been  suita- 
bly rewarded  for  their  loyalty  and  zeal  by  the  most 
splendid  appointments  and  the  most  lucrative  offices ; 
that  Lord  Clancharlie  could  not  be  ignorant  of  this,  and 
that  it  only  depended  on  himself  to  be  seated  by  their 
side,  glorious  in  his  honours ;  that  England  had,  thanks 
to  her  king,  risen  again  to  the  summit  of  prosperity ; 
that  London  was  all  banquets  and  carousals ;  that  every- 
body was  rich  and  enthusiastic ;  that  the  court  was  gal- 
lant, gay,  and  magnificent,  — if  by  chance,  far  from  these 
splendours,  in  some  melancholy,  indescribable  half-light, 
like  nightfall,  that  old  man,  clad  in  the  same  garb  as 
the  common  people,  was  observed  standing  on  the  shore 
of  the  lake,  pale,  absent-minded,  heedless  of  the  storm 
and  of  the  winter's  cold,  walking  as  if  at  random,  his 
eye  fixed  on  the  ground,  his  white  hair  waving  in  the 
wind,  silent,  pensive,  solitary,  who  could  forbear  to 
smile  ?  Was  not  such  a  being  nothing  more  or  less  than 
a  madman  ? 

Thinking  of  Lord  Clancharlie,  of  what  he  might  have 
been  and  what  he  was,  one  proved  oneself  very  charita- 
ble if  one  only  smiled.     Many  persons  laughed  aloud, 


LORD  CLANCHARLIE.  199 

others  could  not  restrain  their  wrath.  It  is  easy  to  un- 
derstand how  greatly  men  of  sense  were  shocked  by  the 
insolence  which  his  isolation  evinced.  There  was  one 
extenuating  circumstance :  Lord  Clancharlie  had  never 
had  any  brains.     Every  one  agreed  on  that  point. 


II. 

It  is  disagreeable  to  see  one's  fellow-creature  obsti- 
nate. Imitations  of  Regulus  are  not  popular,  and  public 
opinion  holds  them  in  some  derision.  Stubborn  people 
are  so  many  reproaches,  and  we  have  a  right  to  laugh  at 
them.  Besides,  to  sum  up,  are  these  perversities,  these 
rugged  notches,  really  virtues  ?  Is  there  not  a  good  deal 
of  ostentation  in  these  excessive  parades  of  self-abnega- 
tion and  honour  ?  Are  they  not  mere  show  and  pretence  ? 
Why  this  pretence  of  solitude  and  exile  ?  To  carry 
nothing  to  extremes  is  the  wise  man's  maxim.  Oppose 
if  you  choose,  blame  if  you  will,  but  decently,  —  crying 
out  all  the  while,  "  Long  live  the  King !  "  The  greatest 
of  virtues  is  common-sense.  What  falls  ought  to  fall, 
what  succeeds  ought  to  succeed.  Providence  acts  ad- 
visedly; it  crowns  him  who  deserves  the  crown.  Do 
you  pretend  to  know  better  than  Providence?  When 
matters  are  settled;  when  one  regime  has  replaced  an- 
other; when  success  is  the  scale  in  which  truth  and 
falsehood  are  weighed,  —  then  doubt  is  no  longer  possi- 
ble. The  honest  man  goes  over  to  the  winning  side; 
and  although  it  may  happen  to  serve  his  fortune  and  his 
family,  he  does  not  allow  himself  to  be  influenced  by 
that  consideration,  but  thinking  only  of  the  public  weal, 
holds  out  his  hand  heartily  to  the  conqueror. 
,  What  would  become  of  the  State  if  no  one  consented 
to  serve  it  ?    Would  not  everything  come  to  a  standstill  1 


200  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

To  keep  his  place  is  the  duty  of  a  good  citizen.  Learn 
to  sacrifice  your  secret  preferences.  Appointments  must 
be  filled,  and  some  one  must  sacrifice  himself.  To  yield 
prompt  obedience  to  the  powers  that  be  is  truly  lauda- 
ble. The  retirement  of  public  officials  would  paralyze 
the  State.  What,  banish  yourself  ?  How  weak !  Set 
yourself  up  as  an  example  ?  What  vanity !  Defy  es- 
tablished authority  ?  What  audacity !  What  do  you 
set  yourself  up  to  be,  I  wonder?  Learn  that  we  are  just 
as  good  as  you.  If  we  chose,  we  also  could  be  intracta- 
ble and  untamable,  and  do  worse  things  than  you ;  but 
we  prefer  to  be  sensible  people.  Because  I  am  a  Triinal- 
cion,  do  you  think  that  I  could  not  be  a  Cato  ?  What 
nonsense ! 


III. 


Never  was  a  situation  more  clearly  defined  or  more 
decisive  than  that  of  1660.  Never  had  a  course  of  con- 
duct been  more  plainly  indicated  to  a  well-ordered  mind. 
England  was  out  of  Cromwell's  grasp.  Under  the  re- 
public many  irregularities  had  been  committed.  British 
preponderance  had  been  created.  With  the  aid  of  the 
Thirty-Years'  war,  Germany  had  been  overcome;  with 
the  aid  of  the  Fronde,  France  had  been  humiliated ; 
with  the  aid  of  the  Duke  of  Braganza,  the  power  of 
Spain  had  been  lessened.  Cromwell  had  tamed  Maza- 
rin ;  in  signing  treaties  the  Protector  of  England  wrote 
his  name  above  that  of  the  King  of  France.  The  United 
Provinces  had  been  forced  to  pay  a  fine  of  eight  mil- 
lions ;  Algiers  and  Tunis  had  been  attacked,  Jamaica  con- 
quered, Lisbon  humbled ;  French  rivalry  had  been  encour- 
aged in  Barcelona,  and  Masaniello  in  Naples ;  Portugal 
had  been  made  fast  to  England ;  the  seas  had  been  cleared 
of  Barbary  pirates  from  Gibraltar  to  Crete  ;  maritime  dom- 


LORD  CLANCHARLIE.  201 

ination  had  been  established  under  two  forms,  Victory 
and  Commerce.  On  the  10th  of  August,  1653,  the  man 
of  thirty-three  victories,  —  the  old  Admiral  who  called 
himself  the  sailors'  grandfather,  Martin  Happertz 
Tromp,  who  had  beaten  the  Spanish,  —  was  defeated  by 
the  English  fleet.  The  Atlantic  had  been  cleared  of  the 
Spanish  navy,  the  Pacific  of  the  Dutch,  the  Mediterra- 
nean of  the  Venetian ;  and  by  the  Navigation  Act,  Eng- 
land had  taken  possession  of  the  sea-coast  of  the  world. 
Through  the  ocean  she  commanded  the  world.  At  sea 
the  Dutch  flag  humbly  saluted  the  British  flag ;  France, 
in  the  person  of  the  Ambassador  Mancini,  bent  the  knee 
to  Oliver  Cromwell ;  and  Cromwell  played  with  Calais 
and  Dunkirk  as  with  two  shuttlecocks  on  a  battledore. 
The  continent  had  been  taught  to  tremble,  peace  had 
been  dictated,  war  declared,  the  British  Ensign  raised 
on  every  pinnacle.  A  single  regiment  of  the  Protector's 
Ironsides  excited  as  much  terror  in  Europe  as  an  entire 
army.  Cromwell  used  to  say,  "  I  mean  the  Bepublic  of 
England  to  be  respected,  as  the  Republic  of  Eome  was 
respected.  Delusions  were  no  longer  held  sacred; 
speech  was  free,  the  press  was  free.  In  the  public  street 
men  said  what  they  listed ;  they  printed  what  they 
pleased  without  control  or  censorship.  The  equilibrium 
of  thrones  had  been  destroyed.  The  whole  order  of 
European  monarchy,  of  which  the  Stuarts  formed  a  link, 
had  been  overturned. 

But  at  last  England  had  escaped  from  this  odious  or- 
der of  things,  and  had  won  forgiveness  for  it.  The 
indulgent  Charles  II.  had  issued  the  proclamation  of 
Breda ;  he  had  kindly  consented  to  ignore  the  period  of 
English  history  in  which  the  son  of  the  Huntingdon 
brewer  placed  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  Louis  XIV.  Eng- 
land said  its  med  culpd,  and  breathed  again.  The  cup  of 
joy  was,  as  we  have  just  said,  full ;  gibbets  for  the  regi- 


202  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

cides  adding  to  the  universal  delight.  A  restoration  is 
charming,  but  a  few  gibbets  are  not  out  of  place,  and  it 
is  necessary  to  satisfy  the  public  conscience.  To  be  good 
subjects  was  thenceforth  the  people's  sole  ambition. 
The  spirit  of  lawlessness  had  been  expelled.  Loyalty 
was  re-established.  Men  had  recovered  from  the  follies 
of  politics ;  they  sneered  at  revolution,  they  jeered  at 
the  republic ;  and  as  to  those  times  when  such  strange 
words  as  Right,  Liberty,  Progress,  had  been  in  every 
one's  mouth,  why,  they  laughed  at  such  bombast!  How 
admirable  this  return  to  common-sense  was !  England 
had  been  in  a  dream.  What  joy  to  be  free  from  such 
errors  !  "Was  ever  anything  so  mad  ?  Where  should  we 
be  if  every  one  had  his  rights  ?  Fancy  every  one's  hav- 
ing a  hand  in  the  government !  Can  you  imagine  a  city 
ruled  by  its  citizens  ?  Why,  the  citizens  are  the  team, 
and  the  team  cannot  act  as  driver.  To  put  to  the  vote 
is  to  throw  to  the  winds.  Would  you  have  States  driven 
like  clouds  ?  Disorder  cannot  build  up  order.  With 
chaos  for  an  architect,  the  edifice  would  be  a  Babel. 
Besides,  how  tyrannical  this  pretended  liberty  is !  As 
for  me,  I  wish  to  enjoy  myself,  not  to  govern.  It  is  a 
bore  to  have  to  vote ;  I  want  to  dance.  How  providen- 
tial that  we  have  a  prince  to  take  care  of  us  all !  How 
kind  the  king  is  to  take  so  much  trouble  for  our  sakes ! 
Besides,  he  is  to  the  manner  born ;  he  knows  what 's 
what ;  it 's  his  business.  Peace,  war,  legislation,  finance, 
—  what  have  the  people  to  do  with  such  things.  Of 
course  the  people  have  to  pay,  of  course  the  people  have 
to  serve ;  but  that  should  suffice.  They  have  a  place  in 
policy ;  from  them  come  two  essential  things,  —  the 
army  and  the  budget.  To  be  liable  to  contribute,  and 
to  be  liable  to  serve, —  is  not  that  enough  ?  What  more 
can  they  want  ?  They  are  the  military  and  the  finan- 
cial  arm,  —  a   magnificent   rdle.     The   king  reigns   for 


LORD    CLANCHARLIE.  203 

them,  and  they  must  reward  him  accordingly.  Taxation 
and  the  civil  list  are  the  salaries  paid  by  the  people  and 
earned  by  the  prince.  The  people  give  their  blood  and 
their  money,  in  return  for  which  they  are  governed.  To 
wish  to  govern  themselves,  —  what  an  absurd  idea ! 
They  require  a  guide;  being  ignorant,  they  are  blind. 
Has  not  the  blind  man  his  dog  ?  Only  the  people  have 
a  lion,  the  king,  who  consents  to  play  the  dog.  How 
kind  of  him !  Why  are  the  people  ignorant  ?  Because 
it  is  good  for  them  to  be  ignorant.  Ignorance  is  the 
guardian  of  Virtue.  "Where  there  are  no  possibilities  of 
improvement  there  is  no  ambition.  The  ignorant  man 
is  in  useful  darkness,  which,  suppressing  sight,  sup- 
presses covetousness  :  hence  innocence.  He  who  reads, 
thinks ,  he  who  thinks,  reasons.  But  not  to  reason  is 
duty  and  happiness  as  well.  These  truths  are  incontes- 
table ;  society  is  based  on  them. 

These  sound  social  doctrines  had  been  re-established 
in  England.  At  the  same  time  a  correct  taste  in  litera- 
ture was  reviving.  Shakspeare  was  despised,  Dryden 
admired.  "  Dryden  is  the  greatest  poet  of  England,  and 
of  the  century, "  said  Atterbury,  the  translator  of  "  Achi- 
tophel. "  This  was  about  the  time  when  M.  Huet, 
Bishop  of  Avranches,  wrote  to  Saumaise,  who  had  done 
the  author  of  "  Paradise  Lost  "  the  honour  to  refute  and 
abuse  him :  "  How  can  you  trouble  yourself  about  so 
mean  a  thing  as  that  Milton  ?  "  Everything  was  falling 
into  its  proper  place :  Dryden  above,  Shakspeare  below ; 
Charles  II.  on  the  throne,  Cromwell  on  the  gibbet. 
England  was  raising  herself  out  of  the  shame  and  the 
excesses  of  the  past.  It  is  a  great  happiness  for  nations 
to  be  led  back  by  monarchy  to  good  order  in  the  State 
and  good  taste  in  letters. 

It  is  hard  to  believe  that  such  benefits  should  not  be 
appreciated.     To  turn  the  cold  shoulder  to  Charles  IL, 


204  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

to  reward  with  ingratitude  the  magnanimity  which  he 
displayed  in  ascending  the  throne,  — was  not  such  con- 
duct abominable?  Lord  Linnseus  Clancharlie  had  in- 
flicted this  vexation  upon  honest  men.  To  sulk  at  his 
country's  happiness, — alack,  what  folly!  We  know 
that  in  1650  Parliament  had  drawn  up  this  form  of 
declaration :  "  I  promise  to  remain  faithful  to  the  repub- 
lic, without  king,  sovereign,  or  lord. "  Under  pretext 
of  having  taken  this  monstrous  oath,  Lord  Clancharlie 
was  living  out  of  the  kingdom,  and  in  the  face  of  the 
general  rejoicing  thought  that  he  had  the  right  to  be 
sad.  He  had  a  profound  esteem  for  that  which  was  no 
more,  and  was  absurdly  attached  to  the  former  state  of 
things.  To  excuse  him  was  impossible ;  even  the  most 
charitably  disposed  abandoned  him.  Some  had  done 
him  the  honour  to  believe  that  he  had  entered  the  re- 
publican ranks  only  to  observe  more  closely  the  flaws  in 
the  republican  armour,  and  to  smite  it  the  more  surely 
when  the  day  should  come  to  strike  for  the  sacred  cause 
of  the  king.  These  lurkings  in  ambush  for  the  con- 
venient hour  to  stab  the  enemy  in  the  back  are  attributes 
of  loyalty.  Such  a  line  of  conduct  had  been  expected  of 
Lord  Clancharlie,  so  strong  was  the  wish  to  judge  him 
favourably;  but,  in  the  face  of  his  strange  persistence 
in  republicanism,  people  were  obliged  to  lower  their 
estimate  of  him.  Evidently  Lord  Clancharlie  was  con- 
firmed in  his  convictions;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  an 
idiot! 

The  explanation  given  by  the  indulgent  wavered  be- 
tween puerile  stubbornness  and  senile  obstinacy.  The 
severe  and  the  just  went  much  further;  they  cursed  the 
name  of  the  renegade.  Folly  has  its  rights,  but  it  has 
also  its  limits.  A  man  may  be  a  brute,  but  he  has  no 
right  to  be  a  rebel.  And,  after  all,  who  was  this  Lord 
Clancharlie?    A  deserter.     He  had  left  his  camp,  that 


LORD  CLANCHARLIE.  205 

of  the  aristocracy,  for  that  of  the  enemy,  the  people. 
This  faithful  man  was  a  traitor.  It  is  true  that  he  was 
a  traitor  to  the  stronger  side  and  faithful  to  the  weaker ; 
it  is  true  that  the  camp  repudiated  by  him  was  the  camp 
of  the  conqueror,  and  the  camp  adopted  by  him  the  camp 
of  the  vanquished ;  it  is  true  that  by  his  treason  he  lost 
everything,  — his  political  privileges  and  his  home,  his 
title  and  his  country.  He  gained  nothing  but  ridicule, 
he  attained  no  benefit  but  exile.  But  what  does  all  this 
prove  ?  Merely  that  he  was  a  fool.  Plainly  a  fool  and 
a  traitor  in  one.  Let  a  man  be  as  great  a  fool  as  he 
likes,  provided  he  does  not  set  a  bad  example.  Fools 
need  only  be  civil,  and  in  consideration  thereof  they 
may  aim  at  being  the  basis  of  monarchies. 

The  narrowness  of  Clancharlie's  mind  was  incompre- 
hensible. His  eyes  were  still  dazzled  by  the  phantas- 
magoria of  the  revolution.  He  had  allowed  himself  to 
be  taken  in  by  the  republic,  —  yes,  and  cast  out.  He 
was  a  disgrace  to  his  country ;  the  attitude  he  assumed 
was  downright  felony.  Absence  was  an  insult.  He 
held  aloof  from  the  public  happiness  as  from  the  plague. 
In  his  voluntary  banishment  he  merely  sought  a  refuge 
from  the  national  rejoicing.  Over  the  widespread  glad- 
ness at  the  revival  of  the  monarchy,  denounced  by  him 
as  a  lazaretto,  he  was  the  black  flag.  What!  could  he 
thus  look  askance  at  order  re-established,  a  nation  ex- 
alted, and  a  religion  restored  ?  Why  cast  a  shadow  over 
such  serenity?  Take  umbrage  at  England's  content- 
ment !  Must  he  be  the  one  blot  in  the  clear  blue  sky  ? 
Protest  against  a  nation's  will;  refuse  his  Yes  to  the 
universal  consent,  —  it  would  be  disgusting,  if  it  were 
not  the  part  of  a  fool. 

Clancharlie  could  not  have  taken  into  account  the 
fact  that  it  did  not  matter  if  one  had  taken  the  wrong 
turn  with  Cromwell,  so  long  as  one  found  one's  way 


206  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

back  into  the  right  path  with  Monk.  Take  Monk's 
case.  He  is  in  command  of  the  republican  army. 
Charles  II. ,  having  been  informed  of  his  honesty,  writes 
to  him.  Monk,  who  combines  virtue  with  tact,  dis- 
simulates at  first;  then  suddenly  at  the  head  of  his 
troops  dissolves  the  rebel  parliament,  and  re-establishes 
the  king  on  the  throne.  Monk  is  created  Duke  of  Albe- 
marle, has  the  honour  of  having  saved  society,  becomes 
very  rich,  sheds  a  glory  over  his  time,  and  is  created 
Knight  of  the  Garter,  with  a  prospect  of  being  buried  in 
Westminster  Abbey.  Such  is  the  reward  of  British 
fidelity ! 

Lord  Clancharlie  could  never  rise  to  a  sense  of  duty 
thus  carried  out.  He  had  the  infatuation  and  obstinacy 
of  an  exile,  he  contented  himself  with  hollow  phrases ; 
he  was  tongue-tied  by  pride.  The  words  "  conscience  " 
and  "  dignity  "  are  but  words,  after  all ;  one  must  pene- 
trate to  the  depths.  These  depths  Lord  Clancharlie  had 
not  reached.  His  "  eye  was  single, "  and  before  commit- 
ting an  act,  he  wished  to  observe  it  so  closely  as  to  be 
able  to  judge  of  it  in  more  senses  than  one.  Hence  arose 
absurd  disgust  to  the  facts  examined.  No  man  can  be  a 
statesman  who  gives  way  to  such  overstrained  delicacy. 
Excess  of  conscientiousness  degenerates  into  an  infirm- 
ity. Distrust  scruples ;  they  drag  you  too  far.  Exag- 
gerated fidelity  is  like  a  ladder  leading  into  a  cavern,  — 
one  step  down,  another,  then  another ;  and  there  you  are 
in  the  dark.  The  clever  re-ascend ;  fools  remain  there. 
Conscience  must  not  be  allowed  to  practise  such  auster- 
ity. If  it  is,  it  is  sure  to  relapse  eventually  into  the 
depths  of  political  prudery,  as  in  Lord  Clancharlie 's 
case.  Such  principles  result  in  one's  ruin.  He  was 
walking,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  along  the  shores  of 
the  Lake  of  Geneva.     A  fine  way  of  getting  on ! 

In  London  they  sometimes  spoke  of  the  exile.     He 


LORD  CLANCHARLIE.  207 

was  tried  before"  the  tribunal  of  public  opinion.  They 
pleaded  for  and  against  him.  The  cause  having  been 
heard,  he  was  acquitted  on  the  ground  of  stupidity. 
Many  zealous  friends  of  the  former  republic  had  given 
their  adherence  to  the  Stuarts;  for  this  they  deserve 
praise.  They  naturally  calumniated  him  a  little.  The 
obstinate  are  repulsive  to  the  compliant.  Men  of  sense, 
anxious  for  good  places  at  court,  and  weary  of  his  disa- 
greeable attitude,  took  pleasure  in  saying,  "  If  he  has 
not  rallied  to  the  throne,  it  is  because  he  has  not  been 
sufficiently  paid, "  etc.  "  He  wanted  the  chancellorship 
which  the  king  has  given  to  Hyde. "  One  of  his  old 
friends  even  went  so  far  as  to  whisper,  "  He  told  me  so 
himself. " 

Eemote  as  was  the  solitude  of  Linnreus  Clancharlie, 
a  little  of  this  talk  reached  him  now  and  then  through 
other  outlaws  whom  he  met,  and  through  that  old  regi- 
cide, Andrew  Broughton,  who  lived  at  Lausanne.  Clan- 
charlie confined  himself  to  an  imperceptible  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  a  sign  of  profound  disgust  with  him.  On  one 
occasion  he  added  to  the  shrug  these  few  words,  uttered 
in  a  low  voice,  "  I  pity  those  who  believe  such  things. " 

IV. 

Charles  II. ,  good  man !  scorned  him.  The  happiness 
of  England  under  Charles  II.  was  more  than  happiness, 
it  was  enchantment.  A  restoration  is  like  an  old  oil 
painting  re-varnished.  All  the  past  reappeared,  good 
old  manners  returned,  beautiful  women  reigned  and 
governed.  Evelyn  notices  it.  We  read  in  his  journal, 
"  Luxury,  profaneness,  contempt  of  God !  I  saw  the  king 
on  Sunday  evening  with  his  courtesans,  Portsmouth, 
Cleveland,  Mazarin,  and  two  or  three  others,  all  nearly 
naked,  in  the  gaming-room. "     We  feel  that  there  is  ill- 


208  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

nature  in  this  description,  for  Evelyn  was  a  grumbling 
Puritan,  tainted  with  republican  notions.  He  did  not 
appreciate  the  profitable  example  set  by  kings  in  those 
grand  Babylonian  gaieties,  which,  after  all,  provide 
employment  for  the  poor.  He  did  not  understand  the 
utility  of  vice.  Here  is  a  maxim :  Do  not  extirpate  vice, 
if  you  want  to  have  charming  women;  if  you  do,  you 
are  like  idiots  who  destroy  the  chrysalis  while  they  de- 
light in  the  butterfly. 

Charles  II.,  as  we  have  said,  scarcely  remembered 
that  a  rebel  called  Clancharlie  existed;  but  James  II. 
was  more  mindful  of  him.  Charles  II.  governed  gently, 
it  was  his  way ;  we  may  add  that  he  did  not  govern  the 
worse  on  that  account.  A  sailor  sometimes  makes,  on  a 
rope  intended  to  baffle  the  wind,  a  slack  knot  which  he 
leaves  to  the  wind  to  tighten.  Such  is  the  stupidity  of 
the  storm  and  of  a  nation.  The  slack  knot  soon  becomes 
a  tight  one.     So  did  the  government  of  Charles  II. 

Under  James  II.  the  throttling  began,  —  a  necessary 
throttling  of  what  remained  of  the  revolution.  James  II. 
had  a  laudable  ambition  to  be  an  efficient  king.  The 
reign  of  Charles  II.  was,  in  his  opinion,  but  an  attempt 
at  restoration.  James  wished  for  a  still  more  complete 
restoration  of  the  old  order  of  things.  In  1660,  he  de- 
plored that  they  had  confined  themselves  to  the  hanging 
of  ten  regicides.  He  was  a  more  genuine  reconstructor 
of  authority.  He  infused  vigour  into  serious  principles. 
He  installed  true  justice,  which  is  superior  to  sentimen- 
tal declamations,  and  attends,  above  all  things,  to  the 
interests  of  society.  In  his  protecting  severities  we 
recognize  the  father  of  the  State.  He  intrusted  the  hand 
of  justice  to  Jefferies  and  its  sword  to  Kirke.  That 
useful  colonel  one  day  hung  and  rehung  the  same  man, 
a  republican ;  asking  him  each  time :  "  Will  you  re- 
nounce the  republic  ?  "     The  villain,  having  each  time 


LORD  CLANCHARLIE.  209 

said  "  No, "  was  finally  despatched.  "  I  hanged  him  four 
times, "  said  Kirke,  complacently.  The  renewal  of  exe- 
cutions is  a  sure  sign  of  power  in  the  executive  author- 
ity. Lady  Lisle,  who,  though  she  had  sent  her  son  to 
fight  against  Monmouth,  had  concealed  two  rebels  in  her 
house,  was  executed;  another  rebel,  having  been  hon- 
ourable enough  to  declare  that  an  anabaptist  female  had 
given  him  shelter,  was  pardoned,  and  the  woman  was 
burned  alive.  Kirke,  on  another  occasion,  gave  a  town 
to  understand  that  he  knew  its  principles  to  be  republi- 
can, by  hanging  nineteen  burgesses. 

These  reprisals  were  certainly  legitimate,  for  it  must 
be  remembered  that  under  Cromwell  they  cut  off  the 
noses  and  ears  of  the  stone  saints  in  the  churches. 
James  II. ,  who  had  had  the  good  sense  to  choose  Jefferies 
and  Kirke,  was  a  prince  imbued  with  true  religion ;  he 
practised  mortification  in  the  ugliness  of  his  mistresses ; 
he  listened  to  le  Pere  la  Colombiere,  a  preacher  almost  as 
unctuous  as  le  Pere  Cheminais,  but  with  more  fire,  who 
had  the  glory  of  being,  during  the  first  part  of  his  life,  the 
counsellor  of  James  II. ,  and  during  the  latter  part  the 
ideal  of  Marie  Alacoque.  It  was  probably  due  to  this 
strong  religious  nourishment  that  later  on  James  II. 
was  enabled  to  bear  exile  with  dignity,  and  to  exhibit, 
in  his  retirement  at  Saint  Germain,  the  spectacle  of  a 
king  rising  superior  to  adversity,  calmly  touching  for 
king's  evil,  and  conversing  with  Jesuits. 

It  will  be  readily  understood  that  such  a  king  would 
trouble  himself  to  a  considerable  extent  about  such  a 
rebel  as  Lord  Linnaeus  Clancharlie.  Hereditary  peer- 
ages have  a  certain  hold  on  the  future,  and  it  was  evi- 
dent that  if  any  precautions  were  necessary  with  regard 
to  that  lord,  James  II.  was  not  the  man  to  hesitate. 

VOL.   XIX.  —  14 


CHAPTER  IL 

LORD  DAVID   DIRRY-MOIR. 
I. 

LORD  LINN^US  CLANCHARLIE  had  not  always 
been  old  and  proscribed;  he  had  had  his  period 
of  youth  and  passion.  We  know  from  Harrison  and 
Pride  that  Cromwell,  when  young,  loved  women  and 
pleasure,  —  a  taste  which  generally  (another  aspect  of 
the  "  woman  question  ")  betrays  a  seditious  man.  Dis- 
trust the  loosely  clasped  girdle  {Male prcecinctwn  juvenem 
cavete).  Lord  Clancharlie,  like  Cromwell,  had  had  his 
wild  hours  and  his  irregularities.  He  was  known  to 
have  had  a  natural  child,  a  son.  This  son  was  born  in 
England  in  the  last  days  of  the  republic,  just  as  his 
father  was  going  into  exile ;  hence  he  had  never  seen  his 
father.  This  illegitimate  son  of  Lord  Clancharlie  had 
grown  up  as  page  at  the  court  of  Charles  II.  He  was 
styled  Lord  David  Dirry-Moir :  he  was  a  lord  by  cour- 
tesy, his  mother  being  a  woman  of  quality. 

The  mother,  while  Lord  Clancharlie  was  playing  the 
owl  in  Switzerland,  made  up  her  mind,  being  a  beauty, 
to  give  up  sulking,  and  was  forgiven  for  that  Goth  her 
first  lover,  by  one  who  was  undeniably  a  polished  gen- 
tleman, and  at  the  same  time  a  royalist, —  no  less  a  per- 
son, in  fact,  than  the  king  himself.  She  had  been  the 
mistress  of  Charles  II.  but  a  short  time,  sufficiently  long, 
however,  to  have  made  his  Majesty  (who  was  delighted 
to  have  won  so  pretty  a  woman  from  the  republic)  be- 
stow on  the  little  Lord  David,  the  son  of  his  divinity, 


LORD  DAVID  DIRRY-MOIR.  211 

the  office  of  keeper  of  the  stick,  —  which  made  that 
young  man,  boarded  at  the  king's  expense,  by  a  natural 
revulsion  of  feeling  an  ardent  adherent  of  the  Stuarts. 
Lord  David  was  for  some  time  one  of  the  hundred  and 
seventy  sword-bearers ;  afterwards,  entering  the  corps  of 
pensioners,  he  became  one  of  the  forty  who  bear  the 
gilded  halberd.  He  had,  besides  being  one  of  the  no- 
ble company  instituted  by  Henry  VIII.  as  a  body-guard, 
the  privilege  of  placing  the  dishes  on  the  king's  table. 
Thus  it  was  that  while  his  father  was  growing  grey  in 
exile,  Lord  David  was  prospering  under  Charles  II. 
After  which  he  prospered  under  James  II.  The  king  is 
dead :  Long  live  the  king !  It  is  the  non  deficit  alter, 
aureiis. 

It  was  on  the  accession  of  the  Duke  of  York  that  the 
young  man  obtained  permission  to  call  himself  David 
Lord  Dirry-Moir,  from  an  estate  which  he  inherited 
from  his  mother  (who  had  just  died)  in  that  great  forest 
of  Scotland,  where  lives  the  krag,  a  bird  which  scoops 
out  a  nest  with  its  beak  in  the  trunk  of  the  oak. 

II. 

James  II.  was  a  king,  and  pretended  to  be  a  great 
general.  He  loved  to  surround  himself  with  young 
officers.  He  showed  himself  frequently  in  public  on 
horseback,  in  a  helmet  and  cuirass,  with  a  huge  project- 
ing wig  hanging  below  the  helmet  and  over  the  cuirass, 
—  a  sort  of  equestrian  statue  of  imbecile  war.  He  took 
a  fancy  to  young  Lord  David ;  he  liked  the  royalist  for 
being  the  son  of  a  republican.  A  renegade  father  does 
not  injure  the  foundation  of  a  court  fortune.  The  king 
made  Lord  David  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber,  at  a 
salary  of  a  thousand  a  year.  It  was  a  fine  promotion. 
A  gentleman   of  the  bedchamber  sleeps  near  the  king 


212  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

every  night,  on  a  bed  which  is  made  up  for  him.     There 
are  twelve  gentlemen,  who  relieve  one  another. 

Lord  David,  while  he  held  that  post,  was  also  head  of 
the  king's  granary,  giving  out  corn  for  the  horses  and 
receiving  a  salary  of  £260.  Under  him  were  the  five 
coachmen  of  the  king,  the  five  postilions  of  the  king,  the 
five  grooms  of  the  king,  the  twelve  footmen  of  the  king, 
and  the  four  chair-bearers  of  the  king.  He  had  the  man- 
agement of  the  race-horses  which  the  king  kept  at  New- 
market, and  which  cost  his  Majesty  £600  a  year.  He 
worked  his  will  on  the  king's  wardrobe,  from  which  the 
knights  of  the  garter  are  furnished  with  their  robes  of 
ceremony.  The  usher  of  the  black  rod  bowed  down  to 
the  earth  before  him.  That  usher,  under  James  II., 
was  the  Chevalier  Duppa.  Mr.  Baker,  who  was  clerk 
of  the  crown,  and  Mr.  Brown,  who  was  clerk  of  the  Par- 
liament, also  bowed  low  before  Lord  David.  The  court 
of  England,  which  is  magnificent,  is  a  model  of  hospi- 
tality. Lord  David  presided,  as  one  of  the  twelve,  at 
banquets  and  receptions.  He  had  the  glory  of  standing 
behind  the  king  on  offertory  days,  when  the  king  gives 
to  the  church  the  golden  byzantium ;  on  collar- days, 
when  the  king  wears  the  collar  of  his  order;  on  com- 
munion days,  when  no  one  takes  the  sacrament  except 
the  king  and  the  princes.  It  was  he  who,  on  Holy 
Thursday,  introduced  into  his  Majesty's  presence  the 
twelve  poor  men  to  whom  the  king  gives  as  many  silver 
pence  as  he  is  years  old,  and  as  many  shillings  as  the 
years  of  his  reign.  The  duty  devolved  on  him,  when 
the  king  was  ill,  to  call  to  the  assistance  of  his  Majesty 
the  two  grooms  of  the  almonry,  who  are  priests,  and  to 
prevent  the  approach  of  doctors  without  permission  from 
the  council  of  State.  Besides,  he  was  lieutenant-colonel 
of  the  Scotch  Regiment  of  Guards,  the  one  which  plays 
the  Scottish  march.     As  such,  he  made  several  cam' 


LORD  DAVID  DIRRY-MOIR.  213 

jpaigns,  and  with  glory ;  for  he  was  a  gallant  soldier.  He 
was  a  brave  lord,  well-made,  handsome,  generous,  and 
majestic  in  look  and  in  manner.  His  person  was  like 
his  quality.  He  was  tall  in  stature,  as  well  as  exalted 
in  birth.  At  one  time  he  stood  a  chance  of  being  made 
groom  of  the  stole,  which  would  have  given  him  the 
privilege  of  putting  the  king's  shirt  on  his  Majesty: 
but  to  hold  that  office  it  was  necessary  to  be  either 
prince  or  peer.  Now,  to  create  a  peer  is  a  serious  thing, 
inasmuch  as  it  is  first  necessary  to  create  a  peerage ;  and 
that  makes  many  people  jealous.  It  is  a  favour,  —  but 
a  favour  that  gains  the  king  one  friend  and  one  hundred 
enemies,  without  taking  into  account  that  the  one  friend 
becomes  ungrateful.  James  II.  was  not  inclined  to  cre- 
ate peerages,  but  he  transferred  them  freely.  The  trans- 
fer of  a  peerage  produces  no  sensation ;  it  is  simply  the 
continuation  of  a  name.  The  friendly  monarch  had  no 
objection  to  raising  Lord  David  Dirry-Moir  to  the  upper 
house,  provided  he  could  do  so  by  means  of  a  substituted 
peerage.  Nothing  would  have  pleased  his  Majesty  better 
than  to  transform  Lord  David  Dirry-Moir  lord  by  cour- 
tesy into  a  lord  by  right. 

IIL 

The  opportunity  occurred.  One  day  it  was  announced 
that  several  things  had  happened  to  the  old  exile  Lord 
Clancharlie,  the  most  important  of  which  was  that  he 
had  died.  Death  does  men  this  much  good,  —  it  makes 
them  the  subject  of  conversation  for  a  time.  People  told 
what  they  knew,  or  what  they  thought  they  knew,  about 
the  last  years  of  Lord  Linnaeus.  "What  they  said  was 
probably  a  mixture  of  hearsay  and  conjecture.  If  these 
tales  were  to  be  credited,  Lord  Clancharlie 's  republican- 
ism was  intensified  towards  the  end  of  his  days  to  the 


214  THE   MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

extent  of  marrying  (strange  obstinacy  on  the  part  of  the 
exile  !)  Ann  Bradshaw,  the  daughter  of  a  regicide  :  they 
were  precise  about  the  name.  This  lady  had  died,  it 
was  said,  in  giving  birth  to  a  boy.  If  these  details 
should  prove  to  be  correct,  this  child  would,  of  course, 
be  the  legitimate  and  rightful  heir  of  Lord  Clancharlie. 
These  reports,  however,  were  extremely  vague  in  form, 
and  were  rumours  rather  than  facts.  Circumstances 
which  happened  in  Switzerland  in  those  days  were  as 
remote  from  the  England  of  that  period  as  those  which 
take  place  in  China  from  the  England  of  to-day.  Lord 
Clancharlie  must  have  been  fifty-nine  at  the  time  of  his 
marriage,  they  said,  and  sixty  at  the  birth  of  his  son, 
and  must  have  died  shortly  after,  leaving  his  infant  be- 
reft both  of  father  and  mother.  This  was  possible,  per- 
haps, but  improbable.  They  added  that  the  child  was 
beautiful  as  the  day,  —  just  as  we  read  in  all  the  fairy 
tales. 

King  James  put  an  end  to  these  rumours  (which  must 
have  been  entirely  without  foundation)  by  declaring, 
one  fine  morning,  Lord  David  Dirry-Moir  sole  and  posi- 
tive heir  in  default  of  legitimate  issue,  and  by  his  royal 
pleasure,  of  Lord  Linnaeus  Clancharlie,  his  natural 
father,  the  absence  of  all  other  issue  and  descent  being 
established;  and  patents  of  this  grant  were  duly  regis- 
tered in  the  House  of  Lords.  By  these  patents  the  king 
instated  Lord  David  Dirry-Moir  in  all  the  titles,  rights, 
and  prerogatives  of  the  late  Lord  Linnaeus  Clancharlie, 
on  the  sole  condition  that  Lord  David  should  wed, 
when  she  attained  a  marriageable  age,  a  certain  girl  who 
was  at  that  time  a  mere  infant  a  few  months  old,  and 
whom  the  king  in  her  cradle  had  created  a  duchess,  no 
one  knew  exactly  why,  —  or,  rather,  every  one  knew 
why.  This  little  infant  was  called  the  Duchess  Josiana. 
Spanish  names  were  then  all  the  rage  in  England.     One 


LORD  DAVID  DIRRY-MOni.  215 

of  Charles  II.  's  bastards  was  called  Carlos  Earl  of  Ply- 
mouth. It  is  likely  that  Josiana  was  a  contraction  for 
Josefa-y-Ana.  Josiana,  however,  may  have  been  a 
name, — the  feminine  of  Josias.  One  of  Henri  III. 's 
gentlemen  was  called  Josias  du  Passage.  It  was  to  this 
little  duchess  that  the  king  granted  the  peerage  of  Clan- 
charlie.  She  was  a  peeress  till  there  should  be  a  peer ; 
the  peer  was  to  be  her  husband.  The  peerage  was 
founded  on  a  double  castleward,  the  barony  of  Clan- 
charlie  and  the  barony  of  Hunkerville;  besides,  the 
barons  of  Clancharlie  were,  as  a  reward  for  some  ancient 
deed  of  prowess,  and  by  royal  license,  Marquises  of 
Corleone  in  Sicily. 

Peers  of  England  cannot  bear  foreign  titles.  There 
are,  nevertheless,  exceptions ;  thus  Henry  Arundel, 
Baron  Arundel  of  Wardour,  was,  as  well  as  Lord  Clif- 
ford, a  Count  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  of  which  Lord 
Cowper  is  a  prince.  The  Duke  of  Hamilton  is  Duke  of 
Chatelherault,  in  France;  Basil  Fielding,  Earl  of  Den- 
bigh, is  Count  of  Hapsburg,  of  Lauffenberg,  and  of 
Bheinfelden,  in  Germany.  The  Duke  of  Marlborough 
was  Prince  of  Mindelheim  in  Suabia,  just  as  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  was  Prince  of  Waterloo  in  Belgium. 
This  same  Lord  Wellington  was  also  a  Spanish  Duke  of 
Ciudad  Eodrigo,  and  Portuguese  Count  of  Vimiera. 

There  were  in  England,  and  there  are  still,  both  en- 
tailed and  unentailed  estates.  The  lands  of  the  Lords 
of  Clancharlie  were  all  entailed.  These  lands,  burghs, 
bailiwicks,  fiefs,  rents,  freeholds,  and  domains,  adher- 
ent to  the  peerage  of  Clancharlie-Hunkerville,  now  be- 
longed provisionally  to  Lady  Josiana;  and  the  king 
declared  that,  once  married  to  Josiana,  Lord  David 
Dirry-Moir  should  be  Baron  Clancharlie.  Besides  the 
Clancharlie  inheritance,  Lady  Josiana  had  her  own  pri- 
vate  fortune.     She   possessed    great  wealth,    much   of 


216  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

which  was  derived  from  the  gifts  of  Madame  sans  queue 
—  in  other  words,  Madame  —  to  the  Duke  of  York. 
Henrietta  of  England,  Duchess  of  Orleans,  the  lady  of 
highest  rank  in  France  after  the  queen,  was  called  Ma- 
dame sans'Aqueue. 

IV. 

Having  prospered  under  Charles  and  James,  Lord 
David  continued  to  prosper  under  William.  His  Jacobite 
feelings  did  not  reach  to  the  extent  of  following  James 
into  exile.  While  he  continued  to  love  his  legitimate 
king,  he  had  the  good  sense  to  serve  the  usurper ;  he  was, 
moreover,  although  sometimes  disposed  to  rebel  against 
discipline,  an  excellent  officer.  He  exchanged  from  the 
land  to  the  sea  forces,  and  distinguished  himself  in  the 
White  Squadron ;  he  rose  in  it  to  be  what  was  then 
called  captain  of  a  light  frigate.  Altogether  he  was  a 
very  fine  fellow,  extremely  elegant  in  his  vices ;  a  bit  of 
a  poet,  like  everybody  else  at  that  epoch  ;  a  good  servant 
of  the  State  and  a  good  servant  to  the  prince ;  assiduous 
at  feasts,  at  ladies'  receptions,  at  ceremonials,  and  in  bat- 
tle ;  servile  in  a  gentlemanly  way,  and  yet  haughty  in 
the  extreme ;  with  eyesight  dull  or  keen,  according  to 
the  object  examined ;  in  manner  obsequious  or  arrogant, 
as  occasion  required ;  frank  and  sincere  on  first  acquain- 
tance, with  the  power  of  assuming  the  mask  afterwards ; 
very  observant  of  the  smiles  and  frowns  of  his  royal 
master;  careless  before  a  sword's  point;  always  ready 
with  heroism  and  complacency  to  risk  his  life  at  a  sign 
from  his  Majesty ;  capable  of  any  insult  but  of  no  im- 
politeness; a  man  of  courtesy  and  etiquette,  proud  of 
kneeling  at  great  regal  ceremonies ;  of  a  gay  valour ; 
a  courtier  on  the  surface,  a  paladin  below;  and  young 
at   forty-five.     Lord  David  sang  French  songs  charm- 


' 


Lord  David  Dmv-Moir. 

Photo- Etching-.  —  From  Drawing  by  G.  Rochegro 


LORD  DAVID  DIRRY-M0D3.  217 

ingly, —  an  elegant  accomplishment  which  had  delighted 
Charles  II.  He  loved  eloquence  and  fine  speaking,  and 
was  a  great  admirer  of  those  celebrated  discourses  which 
are  called  the  funeral  orations  of  Bossuet.  From  his 
mother  he  had  inherited  almost  enough  to  live  on,  — 
about  £10,000  a  year.  He  managed  to  get  on  with  it,  by 
running  into  debt.  In  magnificence,  extravagance,  and 
novelty  he  was  without  a  rival.  Directly  he  was  copied, 
he  changed  his  fashion.  On  horseback  he  wore  loose 
boots  of  cow-hide,  which  turned  over,  with  spurs.  He 
had  hats  like  nobody  else's,  unheard-of  lace,  and  bands 
of  which  he  alone  had  the  pattern. 


CHAPTER   IIL 

THE   DUCHESS   JOSIANA. 
I. 

TN"  1705,  although  Lady  Josiana  was  twenty-three  and 
-*-  Lord  David  forty-four,  the  wedding  had  not  yet 
taken  place,  and  that  for  the  best  reason  in  the  world. 
Did  they  hate  each  other?  Far  from  it;  but  what  can- 
not escape  you  inspires  you  with  no  haste  to  obtain  it. 
Josiana  wanted  to  remain  free ;  David,  to  remain  young. 
To  have  no  tie  until  as  late  as  possible  seemed  to  him  to 
be  a  prolongation  of  youth.  Middle-aged  young  men 
abounded  in  those  rakish  times ;  they  grew  grey  as 
young  fops.  The  wig  was  an  accomplice ;  later  on,  pow- 
der became  the  auxiliary.  At  fifty-five  Lord  Charles 
Gerrard,  Baron  Gerrard,  one  of  the  Gerrards  of  Bromley, 
filled  London  with  his  successes ;  the  young  and  pretty 
Duchess  of  Buckingham,  Countess  of  Coventry,  made  a 
fool  of  herself  for  love  of  the  handsome  Thomas  Bellasys, 
Viscount  Fauconberg,  who  was  sixty-seven.  Men  quoted 
the  famous  verses  of  Corneille,  the  septuagenarian,  to  a 
girl  of  twenty,  beginning,  "  Marquise,  si  mon  visage. " 
Women,  too,  had  their  successes  in  the  autumn  of  life, 
—  witness  Ninon  and  Marion.  Such  were  the  models 
of  the  day. 

Josiana  and  David  were  carrying  on  a  flirtation  of  a 
peculiar  kind.  They  did  not  love,  they  pleased,  each 
other.  To  be  in  each  other's  society  sufficed  them :  why 
hasten  the  conclusion  ?  The  novels  of  those  days  carried 
lovers  and  engaged  couples  only  to  that  stage  which  was 
the  most  becoming.     Besides,  Josiana,  while  she  knew 


THE  DUCHESS  JOSIANA.  219 

herself  to  be  a  bastard,  felt  herself  a  princess,  and  car- 
ried her  authority  over  him  with  a  high  hand  in  all  their 
arrangements.  She  had  a  fancy  for  Lord  David.  He 
was  handsome ;  but  she  cared  very  little  about  that. 
She  considered  him  elegant:  that  was  the  all-important 
thing.  To  be  fashionable  is  everything.  Caliban,  fash- 
ionable and  magnificent,  would  distance  Ariel  poor. 
Lord  David  was  handsome ;  so  much  the  better.  The 
danger  in  being  handsome  is  being  insipid  ;  and  that  he 
was  not.  He  betted,  boxed,  ran  into  debt.  Josiana  was 
proud  of  his  horses,  his  dogs,  his  losses  at  play,  and 
especially  of  his  mistresses.  Lord  David,  on  his  side, 
bowed  down  before  the  fascinations  of  the  Duchess 
Josiana,  —  a  maiden  without  spot  or  scruple,  haughty, 
inaccessible,  and  audacious.  He  addressed  sonnets  to 
her,  which  Josiana  sometimes  read.  In  these  sonnets 
he  declared  that  to  possess  Josiana  would  be  to  mount 
to  the  stars;  but  this  did  not  prevent  him -from  post- 
poning the  ascent  until  the  following  year.  He  waited 
patiently  in  the  ante-chamber  outside  Josiana's  heart; 
and  this  suited  both  of  them.  Every  one  at  court  com- 
mended the  good  taste  of  this  delay.  Lady  Josiana  said, 
"  It  is  a  pity  that  I  should  be  obliged  to  marry  Lord 
David,  —  I,  who  would  desire  nothing  better  than  to  be 
in  love  with  him !  " 

Josiana  was  "  the  flesh  "  personified.  It  would  be 
difficult  to  conceive  of  a  more  magnificent  creature.  She 
was  very  tall,  —  too  tall.  Her  hair  was  of  that  tint 
which  might  be  called  red  gold.  She  was  plump,  fresh, 
strong,  and  rosy,  and  possessed  of  immense  boldness 
and  wit.  She  had  eyes  which  were  too  eloquent.  She 
had  neither  lovers  nor  chastity.  She  walled  herself 
around  with  pride.  Men !  fie !  a  god  alone  would  be 
worthy  of  her,  —  a  god  or  a  monster.  If  virtue  consists 
in  impregnability,  then  Josiana  was  the  most  virtuous 


220  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

of  women,  though  by  no  means  the  most  innocent.  She 
disdained  intrigues ;  but  she  would  not  have  been  dis- 
pleased had  she  been  suspected  of  some,  provided  tnat 
they  had  been  of  a  brilliant  character  proportionate  to 
the  merits  of  one  so  exalted  as  herself.  She  thought 
little  of  her  reputation,  but  a  great  deal  of  her  glory. 
To  appear  yielding,  and  yet  be  unapproachable,  is  per- 
fection. Josiana  felt  herself  majestic  and  material. 
Hers  was  a  cumbrous  type  of  beauty.  She  usurped 
rather  than  charmed ;  she  trod  upon  hearts ;  she  was  of 
the  earth  earthy.  She  would  have  been  as  much  aston- 
ished to  find  a  soul  in  her  bosom  as  to  see  wings  on  her 
back.  She  discoursed  learnedly  on  Locke ;  she  was 
polite ;  she  was  even  suspected  of  knowing  Arabic. 

To  be  flesh  and  to  be  a  woman  are  two  very  different 
things.  Where  a  woman  is  vulnerable, —  on  the  side  of 
pity  for  instance,  which  so  readily  turns  to  love,  — 
Josiana  was  not.  Yet  she  was  not  unfeeling.  The  old 
comparison  of  flesh  with  marble  is  absolutely  false.  The 
beauty  of  flesh  consists  in  not  being  marble.  Its 
beauty  is  to  palpitate,  to  tremble,  to  blush,  to  bleed ;  to 
have  firmness  without  hardness ;  to  be  white  without 
being  cold;  to  have  its  sensations  and  its  infirmities. 
Its  beauty  is  to  be  life,  and  marble  is  death.  Flesh, 
when  it  attains  a  certain  degree  of  beauty,  has  almost  a 
claim  to  the  right  of  nudity;  it  conceals  itself  in  its 
own  dazzling  charms  as  in  a  veil.  He  who  looked  upon 
Josiana  nude,  would  have  perceived  her  outlines  only 
through  a  sort  of  halo.  She  would  have  shown  herself 
without  hesitation  to  a  satyr  or  a  eunuch.  She  had  the 
self-possession  of  a  goddess.  To  have  made  her  nudity  a 
torment  to  an  ever-pursuing  Tantalus,  would  have  been 
a  delight  to  her. 

The  king  had  made  her  a  duchess,  and  Jupiter  a  Nereid. 
In  admiring  her  you  felt  yourself  becoming  at  once  a 


THE  DUCHESS  JOSIANA.  221 

pagan  and  a  lackey.  She  seemed  to  have  emerged  from 
the  foam  of  the  ocean.  In  her  there  was  something  of 
the  wave,  of  chance,  of  the  patrician,  and  of  the  tempest. 
She  was  well  read  and  accomplished.  Never  had  a  pas- 
sion approached  her,  yet  she  had  sounded  them  all.  She 
felt  an  instinctive  loathing  of  their  realization,  and  at 
the  same  time  a  longing  for  them.  If  she  had  stabbed 
herself,  it  would,  like  Lucretia,  not  have  been  until 
afterwards.  She  was  a  virgin  stained  with  every  defile- 
ment of  an  imaginary  sort.  She  was  a  possible  Astarte 
embodied  in  a  real  Diana.  She  was,  in  the  insolence  of 
her  high  birth,  at  once  tempting  and  inaccessible. 
Nevertheless,  she  might  find  it  amusing  to  plan  a  fall 
for  herself.  She  dwelt  in  a  halo  of  glory,  half  wishing 
to  descend  from  it,  and  perhaps  feeling  curious  to  know 
what  a  fall  was  like.  She  was  a  little  too  heavy  for  her 
cloud.  To  err  is  a  diversion.  Princely  unconstraint 
has  the  privilege  of  experiment ;  and  what  is  frailty  in 
a  plebeian,  is  only  frolic  in  a  duchess.  Josiana  was  in 
everything  —  in  birth,  in  beauty,  in  irony,  in  brilliancy 
—  almost  a  queen.  She  had  felt  a  momentary  infatuation 
for  Louis  de  Boufflers,  who  used  to  break  horse-shoes 
between  his  fingers.  She  regretted  that  Hercules  was 
dead.  She  lived  in  some  undefined  expectation  of  a 
voluptuous  and  supreme  ideal.  Morally,  Josiana  brought 
to  one's  mind  the  line  of  Horace,  Desinit  in  piscem,  — 

"  Un  beau  torse  de  femme  en  hydre  se  termine." 

Hers  was  a  noble  neck,  a  splendid  bosom,  tranquilly 
heaving  over  a  proud  and  arrogant  heart,  a  glance  full  of 
life  and  light,  a  countenance  pure  and  haughty ;  but  (who 
knows  ? )  below  the  surface  was  there  not,  in  a  semi- 
transparent  and  misty  depth,  an  undulating,  supernatural 
prolongation,  perchance  deformed  and  dragon-like,  — ■ 
proud  virtue  ending  in  vice  in  the  depths  of  dreams  ? 


222  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 


II. 

With  all  that  she  was  a  prude.  It  was  the  fashion. 
Remember  Elizabeth.  Elizabeth  was  of  a  type  that  pre- 
vailed in  England  for  three  centuries,  —  the  sixteenth, 
seventeenth,  and  eighteenth.  Elizabeth  was  more  than 
English,  she  was  Anglican.  Hence  the  deep  respect  of 
the  Episcopalian  Church  for  that  queen,  —  a  respect  re- 
sented by  the  Church  of  Rome,  which  counterbalanced 
it  with  a  dash  of  excommunication.  In  the  mouth  of 
Sixtus  V.,  when  anathematizing  Elizabeth,  malediction 
turned  to  madrigal:  "  Un  gran  cervello  di  principessa, " 
he  says.  Mary  Stuart,  less  concerned  with  the  church 
and  more  with  the  woman  part  of  the  question,  had 
little  respect  for  her  sister  Elizabeth,  and  wrote  to  her 
as  queen  to  queen  and  coquette  to  prude :  "  Your  disin- 
clination to  marriage  arises  from  your  not  wishing  to 
lose  the  liberty  of  being  made  love  to.  "  Mary  Stuart 
toyed  with  the  fan,  Elizabeth  with  the  axe.  An  uneven 
match.  They  were  rivals,  besides,  in  literature.  Mary 
Stuart  composed  French  verses ;  Elizabeth  translated 
Horace.  The  ugly  Elizabeth  decreed  herself  beautiful ; 
liked  quatrains  and  acrostics ;  had  the  keys  of  towns 
presented  to  her  by  cupids ;  bit  her  lips,  after  the  Italian 
fashion,  rolled  her  eyes  after  the  Spanish  style ;  had  in 
her  wardrobe  three  thousand  dresses  and  costumes,  of 
which  several  were  for  the  character  of  Minerva  and 
Amphitrite;  esteemed  the  Irish  for  the  width  of  their 
shoulders  ;  covered  her  farthingale  with  braids  and  span- 
gles ;  loved  roses ;  cursed,  swore,  and  stamped ;  struck 
her  maids  of  honour  with  her  clinched  fists ;  used  to 
send  Dudley  to  the  devil,  beat  Burleigh  the  Chancellor, 
who  would  cry  (poor  old  fool !),  spat  on  Mathew,  collared 
Hatton,   boxed  the  ears  of  Essex,  showed  her  legs  to 


THE  DUCHESS  JOSIANA.  223 

Bassompierre,  —  and  was  a  virgin.  What  she  did  for 
Bassompierre  the  Queen  of  Sheba  had  done  for  Solomon  ; l 
consequently  she  was  right,  Holy  Writ  having  created 
the  precedent.  That  which  is  Biblical  may  well  be 
Anglican.  Biblical  precedent  even  goes  so  far  as  to 
speak  of  a  child  who  was  called  Ebnehaquem,  or  Meli- 
lechet;  that  is  to  say,  "the  Wise  Man's  son." 

Why  object  to  such  manners  ?  Cynicism  is  at  least  as 
good  as  hypocrisy.  Nowadays  England,  whose  Loyola 
is  named  Wesley,  casts  down  her  eyes  a  little  at  the  re- 
membrance of  that  past  age  ;  she  is  vexed  at  the  memory, 
yet  proud  of  it. 

Amidst  such  manners  as  these,  a  taste  for  deformity 
existed,  especially  among  women,  more  especially  among 
beautiful  women.  What  was  the  use  of  being  beautiful 
if  one  did  not  possess  a  baboon  ?  What  was  the  charm 
of  being  a  queen  if  one  could  not  bandy  words  with  a 
dwarf  ?  Mary  Stuart  had  "  been  kind  "  to  the  bandy- 
legged Bizzio.  Maria  Theresa  of  Spain  had  been  "  some- 
what familiar  "  with  a  negro ;  hence  the  "  black  abbess.  " 
In  the  alcoves  of  the  great  century  a  hump  was  the  fash- 
ion :  witness  the  Marshal  of  Luxembourg ;  and  before 
Luxembourg,  Conde*,  "  such  a  pretty  little  man !  "  Beau- 
ties themselves  might  be  ill-made  without  detriment; 
that  was  admitted.  Anne  Boleyn  had  one  breast  bigger 
than  the  other,  six  fingers  on  one  hand,  and  a  projecting 
tooth ;  La  Valliere  was  bandy-legged,  —  which  did  not 
hinder  Henry  VIII.  from  going  mad  for  the  one,  and 
Louis  XIV.   for  the  other. 

Morals  were  equally  awry.  There  was  not  a  woman 
of  high  rank  who  was  not  a  sort  of  monster.  Every 
Agnes  was  a  Melusina  at  heart.  They  were  women  by 
day  and  ghouls  by  night.      They  sought  the  scaifold  to 

1  Regina  Saba  coram  rege  crura  denudavit.  —  Schicklardus  in  Prooemio 
Tarich  Jersici,/.  65. 


224  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

kiss  the  heads  of  the  newly  beheaded  on  their  iron 
stakes.  Marguerite  de  Valois,  the  grandmother  of 
prudes,  wore,  fastened  to  her  belt,  the  hearts  of  her 
dead  lovers  in  tin  boxes,  padlocked.  In  the  eighteenth 
century  the  Duchess  de  Berry,  daughter  of  the  Eegent, 
was  herself  an  obscene  and  royal  type  of  all  these 
creatures. 

These  fine  ladies,  moreover,  knew  Latin.  From  the 
sixteenth  century  this  had  been  accounted  a  feminine 
accomplishment.  Lady  Jane  Grey  had  carried  the 
fashion  to  the  extent  of  knowing  Hebrew.  The  Duchess 
Josiana  Latinized.  Then  (another  fine  thing)  she  was 
secretly  a  Catholic,  —  after  the  manner  of  her  uncle, 
Charles  II. ,  rather  than  her  father,  James  II.  James  II. 
had  lost  his  crown  by  reason  of  his  Catholicism,  and 
Josiana  did  not  care  to  risk  her  peerage.  Thus  it  was 
that  while  she  was  a  Catholic  among  her  intimate  friends 
and  the  refined  of  both  sexes,  she  was  outwardly  a  Pro- 
testant for  the  benefit  of  the  riff-raff.  This  is  a  pleasant 
view  to  take  of  religion.  You  enjoy  all  the  good  things 
connected  with  the  Episcopalian  Church,  and  later  on 
you  die,  like  Grotius,  in  the  odour  of  Catholicity,  with 
the  glory  of  having  a  mass  said  for  you  by  le  Pere 
Petau. 

Although  plump  and  healthy,  Josiana  was,  we  repeat, 
a  perfect  prude.  At  times,  her  sleepy  and  voluptuous 
way  of  dragging  out  the  end  of  her  phrases  was  like  the 
creeping  of  a  tiger's  paws  in  the  jungle.  When  one  has 
not  got  Olympus,  one  must  be  content  with  the  Hotel 
de  Eambouillet.  Juno  resolves  herself  into  Araminta. 
A  pretension  to  divinity  not  admitted,  creates  affecta- 
tion. Instead  of  thunder-claps  there  is  impertinence. 
The  temple  shrivels  into  the  boudoir.  Unable  to  be  a 
goddess,  one  becomes  a  graven  image.  Besides,  there  is 
in  prudery   a   certain   pedantry   which   is   pleasing   t<? 


THE  DUCHESS  JOSIANA.  225 

women.  The  coquette  and  the  pedant  are  near  neigh- 
bours. Their  kinship  is  visible  in  the  fop.  The  subtile 
is  derived  from  the  sensual.  Gluttony  affects  delicacy ; 
a  grimace  of  disgust  conceals  cupidity.  And  then 
woman  feels  her  weak  point  guarded  by  all  that  casuis- 
try of  gallantry  which  takes  the  place  of  scruples  in 
prudes.  It  is  a  line  of  circumvallation  with  a  ditch. 
Every  prude  puts  on  an  air  of  repugnance;  it  is  a  pro- 
tection. She  will  consent  eventually,  but  she  disdains 
—  for  the  present. 

Josiana  had  an  uneasy  conscience.  She  felt  such  a 
leaning  towards  immodesty  that  she  was  a  prude.  The 
very  pride  which  causes  us  to  shrink  from  certain  vices 
leads  us  into  others  of  an  entirely  different  character. 
It  was  the  excessive  effort  to  be  chaste  which  made 
Josiana  a  prude.  To  be  too  much  on  the  defensive 
evinces  a  secret  desire  for  attack ;  the  truly  modest 
woman  is  not  strait-laced.  Josiana  shut  herself  up  in 
the  arrogance  of  the  exceptional  circumstances  of  her 
rank,  meditating,  perhaps,  all  the  while  some  sudden 
lapse  from  it. 

It  was  the  dawn  of  the  eighteenth  century.  England 
was  a  sketch  of  what  France  was  during  the  regency. 
Walpole  and  Dubois  were  not  unlike.  Marlborough  was 
fighting  against  his  former  king,  James  II. ,  to  whom  it 
was  said  he  had  sold  his  sister,  Miss  Churchill.  Boling- 
broke  was  in  the  height  and  Eichelieu  in  the  dawn  of 
his  glory.  Gallantry  found  a  certain  medley  of  ranks 
convenient.  Men  were  made  equal  by  their  vices  as 
they  were  later  on,  perhaps,  by  their  ideas.  Degrada- 
tion of  rank,  an  aristocratic  prelude,  began  what  the 
revolution  was  to  complete.  It  was  not  very  far  from 
the  time  when  Je'lyotte  was  seen  sitting  publicly  in 
broad  daylight,  on  the  bed  of  the  Marquise  d'Epinay. 
It  is  true  (for  manners  re-echo  each  other)  that  in  the 

YOL.   XIX.  —  15 


226  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS 

sixteenth  century  Smeton's  nightcap  had   been   found 
under  Anne  Boleyn's  pillow. 

If  the  word  woman  signifies  frailty,  never  was  woman 
so  womanly  as  then.  Never,  covering  her  frailty  by 
her  charms,  and  her  weakness  by  her  omnipotence,  has 
she  claimed  absolution  more  imperiously.  In  making 
the  forbidden  the  permitted  fruit,  Eve  fell ;  in  making 
the  permitted  the  forbidden  fruit,  she  triumphs.  That 
is  the  climax.  In  the  eighteenth  century  the  wife  bolts 
out  her  husband.  She  shuts  herself  up  in  Eden  with 
Satan.     Adam  is  left  outside. 


III. 

All  Josiana's  instincts  impelled  her  to  yield  herself 
wantonly  rather  than  to  give  herself  legally.  To  sur- 
render one's  self  thus,  is  considered  a  sure  indication  of 
genius,  recalls  Menalcas  and  Amaryllis,  and  is  almost 
a  literary  act.  Mademoiselle  de  Scud^ry,  aside  from  the 
charm  of  ugliness  (for  ugliness  has  its  charm),  could 
have  had  no  other  motive  for  yielding  to  Pelisson. 

The  maiden  a  sovereign,  the  wife  a  subject,  —  such 
was  the  old  English  notion.  Josiana  was  deferring  the 
hour  of  subjection  as  long  as  she  could.  She  must  event- 
ually marry  Lord  David,  since  such  was  the  royal  pleas- 
ure. It  was  a  necessity,  doubtless ;  but  what  a  pity ! 
Josiana  appreciated  Lord  David,  and  showed  him  off. 
There  was  between  them  a  tacit  agreement  neither  to 
conclude  nor  to  break  off  the  engagement.  They  eluded 
each  other.  This  method  of  making  love  —  one  step  in 
advance,  and  two  back  —  is  expressed  in  the  dances  of 
the  period,  the  minuet  and  the  gavotte. 

It  is  unbecoming  to  be  married ;  it  fades  one's  ribbons, 
and  makes  one  look  old.     An  espousal  is  a  dreary  ab- 


THE  DUCHESS  JOSIANA.  227 

sorption  of  brilliancy.  A  woman  handed  over  to  you 
by  a  notary,  how  commonplace !  The  brutality  of  mar- 
riage creates  definite  situations,  suppresses  the  will, 
kills  choice ;  has  a  syntax,  like  grammar ;  replaces  in- 
spiration by  orthography ;  makes  love  a  dictation ;  dis- 
perses all  Life's  mysteries;  diminishes  the  rights  both 
of  sovereign  and  subject ;  by  a  turn  of  the  scale  destroys 
the  charming  equilibrium  of  the  sexes :  the  one  robust 
in  bodily  strength,  the  other  all-powerful  in  feminine 
weakness,  —  strength  on  one  side,  beauty  on  the  other ; 
makes  one  a  master,  and  the  other  a  servant.  While 
before  marriage  man  is  the  slave,  woman  the  queen.  To 
make  Love  prosaically  decent,  how  gross !  to  deprive  it 
of  all  impropriety,  how  dull ! 

Lord  David  was  no  longer  young.  Forty  is  an  age 
that  tells  upon  a  man.  He  was  not  conscious  of  the 
fact,  however,  and  really  looked  only  a  little  over  thirty. 
He  considered  it  more  amusing  to  desire  Josiana  than  to 
possess  her.  He  possessed  others ;  he  had  mistresses. 
On  the  other  hand,  Josiana  had  dreams. 

The  Duchess  Josiana  had  a  peculiarity  which  is  less 
rare  than  is  generally  supposed.  One  of  her  eyes  was 
blue  and  the  other  black.  Her  pupils  were  made  for 
love  and  hate,  for  happiness  and  misery.  Night  and 
day  were  mingled  in  her  look.  Her  ambition  was  this  : 
to  show  herself  capable  of  impossibilities.  One  day  she 
said  to  Swift :  "  You  people  fancy  that  you  know  what 
scorn  is.  "  "  You  people, "  meant  the  human  race.  She 
was  a  skin-deep  Papist ;  her  Catholicism  did  not  exceed 
the  amount  necessary  for  fashion.  She  would  have 
been  a  Puseyite  at  the  present  day.  She  wore  great 
dresses  of  velvet,  satin,  or  moire,  some  composed  of 
fifteen  or  sixteen  yards  of  material,  with  embroideries 
of  gold  and  silver,  and  round  her  waist  many  knots 
of  pearls,  alternating  with  other  precious  stones.     She 


228  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

was  extravagant  in  gold  lace.  Sometimes  she  wore  an 
embroidered  cloth  jacket,  like  a  bachelor.  She  rode  on 
a  man's  saddle,  notwithstanding  the  invention  of  side- 
saddles introduced  into  England  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury by  Anne,  wife  of  Kichard  II.  She  washed  her 
face,  arms,  shoulders,  and  neck  in  sugar  dissolved  in 
white  of  egg,  after  the  Castilian  fashion.  There  came 
over  her  face  when  any  one  talked  cleverly  in  her  pres- 
ence an  appreciative  smile  of  singular  grace.  She  was 
free  from  malice,  and  rather  good-natured  than  other- 
wise. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   LEADER   OF  FASHION. 

JOSIANA  was  bored.  The  fact  is  so  natural  as  to  be 
scarcely  worth  mentioning. 
Lord  David  held  the  position  of  judge  in  the  gay  life 
of  London.  He  was  looked  up  to  by  the  nobility  and 
gentry.  Let  us  mention  one  feat  of  Lord  David :  he 
was  daring  enough  to  wear  his  own  hair.  The  reaction 
against  the  wig  was  beginning.  Just  as  in  1824  Eugene 
Devdria  was  the  first  to  allow  his  beard  to  grow,  so  in 
1702  Price  Devereux  was  the  first  to  risk  wearing  his 
own  hair  in  public  disguised  by  artful  curling;  for  to 
risk  one's  hair  was  almost  to  risk  one's  head.  The  in- 
dignation was  universal,  although  Price  Devereux  was 
Viscount  Hereford,  and  a  peer  of  England.  He  was  in- 
sulted ;  but  the  deed  was  well  worth  the  insult.  In  the 
hottest  part  of  the  row  Lord  David  suddenly  appeared 
without  his  wig  and  in  his  own  hair.  Such  conduct 
shakes  the  foundations  of  society.  Lord  David  was  in- 
sulted even  more  grossly  than  Viscount  Hereford;  yet 
he  held  his  ground.  Price  Devereux  was  the  first,  Lord 
David  Dirry-Moir  was  the  second  to  do  this.  It  is 
sometimes  more  difficult  to  be  the  second  than  the  first. 
It  requires  less  genius,  but  more  courage.  The  first,  in- 
toxicated by  the  novelty,  may  ignore  the  danger;  the 
second  sees  the  abyss,  and  rushes  into  it.  Lord  David 
flung  himself  into  the  abyss  of  no  longer  wearing  a 
wig.     Later  on  these  gentlemen  found  many  imitators. 


230  THE   MAN  WHO   LAUGHS. 

Following  the  examples  of  these  two  revolutionists, 
men  summoned  up  sufficient  courage  to  wear  their  own 
hair,  and  powder  was  introduced  as  an  extenuating 
circumstance. 

In  order  to  establish  an  important  period  of  history 
before  we  pass  on,  we  should  remark  that  the  first  blow 
in  the  war  of  wigs  was  really  struck  by  a  Queen,  — - 
Christina  of  Sweden,  who  wore  man's  clothes,  and  who 
appeared  in  1680,  with  her  hair  of  golden  brown,  pow- 
dered, and  brushed  up  from  her  head.  She  had  besides, 
says  Misson,  a  slight  beard.  The  Pope,  in  his  turn,  by 
a  bull  issued  in  March,  1694,  had  lessened  the  popular- 
ity of  the  wig,  by  taking  it  from  the  heads  of  bishops  and 
priests,  and  by  ordering  churchmen  to  let  their  hair  grow. 

Lord  David,  then,  did  not  wear  a  wig,  and  he  did 
wear  cow-hide  boots.  Such  deeds  of  prowess  made  him 
a  mark  for  public  admiration.  There  was  not  a  club  of 
which  he  was  not  the  leader;  not  a  boxing-match  in 
which  he  was  not  desired  as  referee.  The  referee  is  the 
arbitrator.  He  had  drawn  up  the  rules  of  several  aris- 
tocratic clubs.  He  founded  several  resorts  of  fashion- 
able society,  —  of  which  one,  the  Lady  Guinea,  was  still 
in  existence  in  Pall  Mall,  in  1772.  The  Lady  Guinea 
was  a  club  in  which  all  the  youth  of  the  peerage  con- 
gregated. They  gambled  there ;  the  lowest  stake  al- 
lowed was  a  rouleau  of  fifty  guineas,  and  there  was 
never  less  than  twenty  thousand  guineas  on  the  table. 
By  the  side  of  each  player  was  a  little  stand,  on  which 
to  place  his  cup  of  tea  and  a  gilt  bowl  in  which  to  put 
the  rouleaux  of  guineas.  The  players,  like  servants 
when  cleaning  knives,  wore  leather  sleeves  to  save  their 
lace,  breast-plates  of  leather  to  protect  their  ruffles,  and 
on  their  heads,  to  shelter  their  eyes  from  the  glare  of 
the  lamps  and  to  keep  their  curls  in  order,  broad- 
brimmed  hats  covered  with  flowers.     They  were  masked 


THE  LEADER  OF  FASHION.  231 

to  conceal  their  excitement,  especially  when  playing  the 
game  of  quinze.  All,  moreover,  wore  their  coats  hind- 
side  before,  for  luck. 

Lord  David  was  a  member  of  the  Beefsteak  Club,  the 
Surly  Club,  and  of  the  Splitfarthing  Club ;  of  the  Cross 
Club,  and  the  Scratchpenny  Club ;  of  the  Sealed  Knot, 
a  Royalist  Club;  and  of  the  Martinus  Scribblerus, 
founded  by  Swift,  to  take  the  place  of  the  Eota,  founded 
by  Milton.  Though  handsome,  he  belonged  to  the  Ugly 
Club.  This  club  was  dedicated  to  deformity.  The  mem- 
bers agreed  to  fight,  not  about  a  beautiful  woman,  but 
about  an  ugly  man.  The  hall  of  the  club  was  adorned 
by  hideous  portraits, —  Thersites,  Triboulet,  Duns,  Hudi- 
bras,  Scarron ;  over  the  chimney  was  iEsop,  between 
two  men, — Codes  and  Camoens, — each  blind  in  one 
eye  (Codes  being  blind  in  the  left,  and  Camoens  in  the 
right  eye),  so  arranged  that  the  two  profiles  without  eyes 
were  turned  to  each  other.  The  day  that  the  beautiful 
Mrs.  Visart  caught  the  smallpox,  the  Ugly  Club  toasted 
her.  This  club  was  still  in  existence  in  the  beginning 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  Mirabeau  was  elected  an 
honorary  member. 

Since  the  restoration  of  Charles  II.,  revolutionary 
clubs  had  been  abolished.  The  tavern  in  the  little 
street  by  Moorfields  where  the  Calf's  Head  Club  was 
held,  had  been  pulled  down ;  it  was  so  called  because 
■on  the  30th  of  January,  the  day  on  which  the  blood  of 
Charles  I.  flowed  on  the  scaffold,  the  members  had  drunk 
to  the  health  of  Cromwell  out  of  the  skull  of  a  calf.  To 
republican  clubs  had  succeeded  monarchical  clubs.  In 
them  people  amused  themselves  with  decency.  There 
was  the  Hell-fire  Club,  where  they  played  at  being 
impious.  It  was  a  joust  of  sacrilege ;  hell  was  put 
up  at  auction  there  to  the  highest  bidder  in  blas- 
phemy.    There  was  the  Butting  Club,  so  called  from  its 


232  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

members  butting  folks  with  their  heads.  They  found 
some  street  porter  with  a  wide  chest  and  a  stupid  coun- 
tenance ;  they  offered  him,  and  compelled  him  if  neces- 
sary, to  accept  a  pot  of  porter,  in  return  for  which  he 
was  to  allow  them  to  butt  him  with  their  heads  four 
times  in  the  chest ;  and  on  this  they  betted.  One  day 
a  man,  a  big,  stalwart  Welshman  named  Gogangerdd, 
expired  at  the  third  butt.  This  looked  serious.  An 
inquest  was  held,  and  the  jury  returned  the  following 
verdict :  "  Died  of  enlargement  of  the  heart,  caused  by 
excessive  drinking. "  Gogangerdd  had  certainly  drunk 
the  contents  of  the  pot  of  porter. 

There  was  the  Fun  Club.  Fun  is  like  cant,  and  like 
humour,  —  a  word  which  is  untranslatable.  Fun  is  to 
farce  what  pepper  is  to  salt.  To  get  into  a  house  and 
break  a  valuable  mirror,  slash  the  family  portraits,  poi- 
son the  dog,  put  the  cat  in  the  aviary,  is  called  "  having 
a  bit  of  fun. "  To  give  bad  news  which  is  untrue, 
whereby  people  put  on  mourning  by  mistake,  is  fun.  It 
was  fun  to  cut  a  square  hole  in  the  Holbein  at  Hampton 
Court.  A  member  of  the  Fun  Club  would  have  deemed 
it  a  grand  achievement  to  have  broken  the  arm  of  the 
Venus  of  Milo.  Under  James  II.  a  young  millionaire 
nobleman  who  had  during  the  night  set  fire  to  a  thatched 
cottage,  —  a  feat  which  made  all  London  shriek  with 
laughter,  — was  proclaimed  the  King  of  Fun.  The  poor 
devils  in  the  cottage  were  saved  in  their  night-clothes. 
The  members  of  the  Fun  Club,  all  men  of  the  highest 
rank,  used  to  run  about  London  during  the  hours  when 
the  citizens  were  asleep,  pulling  shutters  off  their  hinges, 
cutting  the  pipes  of  pumps,  filling  up  cisterns,  digging 
up  cultivated  plots  of  ground,  putting  out  lamps,  saw- 
ing through  the  beams  which  supported  houses,  and 
breaking  window-panes,  especially  in  the  poor  quarters 
of  the  town.     It  was  the  rich  who  acted  thus  towards 


J    Mnhn^h    riuh 


Amusements  of  the  Mohawk  Club. 


Photo-Etching. -From  Drawing  by  G.  Rochegrosse. 

It 


THE  LEADER  OF  FASHION.  233 

the  poor.  For  this  reason,  no  complaint  was  possible; 
that  was  the  best  of  the  joke.  These  manners  have  not 
altogether  disappeared.  In  many  places  in  England  and 
in  English  possessions  (at  Guernsey,  for  instance)  your 
house  is  now  and  then  somewhat  damaged  during  the 
night,  or  a  fence  broken,  or  the  knocker  twisted  off  your 
door.  If  it  were  the  poor  who  did  these  things,  they 
would  be  sent  to  jail;  but  they  are  done  by  pleasant 
young  gentlemen. 

The  most  fashionable  of  the  clubs  was  presided  over 
by  a  so-called  emperor,  who  wore  a  crescent  on  his  fore- 
head, and  was  called  the  Grand  Mohawk.  The  Mohawk 
surpassed  the  Fun.  "  Do  evil  for  evil's  sake  "  was  the 
programme.  The  Mohawk  Club  had  one  great  object, 
—  to  injure.  To  accomplish  this  object,  all  sorts  of 
means  were  resorted  to.  In  becoming  a  Mohawk,  the 
members  took  an  oath  to  that  effect.  To  injure  at  any 
price,  no  matter  when,  no  matter  whom,  no  matter 
where,  was  a  matter  of  duty.  Every  member  of  the 
Mohawk  Club  was  bound  to  possess  some  accomplish- 
ment. One  was  "  a  dancing  master ;  "  that  is  to  say,  he 
made  the  rustics  frisk  about  by  pricking  the  calves  of 
their  legs  with  the  point  of  his  sword.  Others  knew 
how  to  make  a  man  sweat ;  that  is  to  say,  a  circle  of 
gentlemen  with  drawn  rapiers  would  surround  a  poor 
wretch,  so  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  not  to  turn 
his  back  upon  some  one  of  them ;  the  gentleman  he 
turned  his  back  upon  chastised  him  for  it  by  a  prick  of 
his  sword,  which  made  him  spring  round ;  another  prick 
in  the  back  warned  the  fellow  that  a  person  of  noble 
blood  was  behind  him,  — and  so  on,  each  one  wounding 
him  in  turn ;  when  the  man,  hemmed  in  by  the  circle  of 
swords  and  covered  with  blood,  had  turned  and  danced 
about  enough,  they  had  him  beaten  by  their  servants  in 
order  to  divert  his  mind.     Others  "  punched  the  lion ; " 


234  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

that  is,  they  gaily  stopped  a  passer-by,  broke  his  nose 
with  a  blow  of  the  fist,  and  then  shoved  both  thumbs 
into  his  eyes ;  if  his  eyes  were  gouged  out,  he  was  paid 
for  them. 

Such  were  the  pastimes  of  the  rich  idlers  of  London 
about  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century.  The 
idlers  of  Paris  also  had  theirs.  About  that  time  M.  de 
Charolais  was  firing  his  gun  at  a  citizen  who  chanced  to 
be  standing  on  his  own  threshold.  Youth  has  had  its 
amusements  from  time  immemorial. 

Lord  David  Dirry-Moir  would  gleefully  set  fire  to  a 
cottage  of  wood  and  thatch,  just  like  the  others,  and 
scorch  the  inmates  a  little ;  but  he  always  rebuilt  their 
houses  in  stone.  He  assaulted  two  ladies.  One  was 
unmarried,  —  he  gave  her  a  portion ;  the  other  was  mar- 
ried, —  he  had  her  husband  appointed  chaplain.  Many 
praiseworthy  improvements  were  due  to  him  in  cock- 
fighting.  It  was  marvellous  to  see  Lord  David  dress  a 
cock  for  the  pit.  Cocks  lay  hold  of  each  other  by  the 
feathers,  as  men  seize  each  other  by  the  hair.  Lord 
David,  therefore,  made  his  cock  as  bald  as  possible. 
With  a  pair  of  scissors  he  cut  off  all  the  tail  feathers, 
and  all  the  feathers  on  the  head  and  shoulders  as  well 
as  those  on  the  neck.  "  So  much  less  for  the  enemy's 
beak,"  he  used  to  say.  Then  he  extended  the  cock's 
wings,  and  cut  each  feather,  one  after  another,  to  a 
point,  and  thus  the  wings  were  furnished  with  darts. 
"That  is  for  the  enemy's  eyes,"  he  would  say.  Then 
he  scraped  its  claws  with  a  penknife,  sharpened  its 
nails,  fitted  steel  gaffs  on  its  spurs,  spat  on  its  head  and 
spat  on  its  neck,  —  anointing  it  with  spittle,  as  they 
used  to  rub  oil  over  athletes ;  then  set  it  down  in  the 
pit,  a  formidable  opponent,  exclaiming,  "  That 's  the 
way  to  make  a  cock  an  eagle ;  a  bird  of  the  poultry-yard 
a  bird  of  the  mountain. " 


THE  LEADER  OF  FASHION.  235 

Lord  David  attended  prize-fights,  and  was  their  liv- 
ing law.  On  great  occasions  it  was  he  who  had  the 
stakes  driven  in  and  ropes  stretched,  and  who  fixed  the 
number  of  feet  for  the  ring.  When  he  was  a  second,  he 
followed  his  man  step  by  step,  a  bottle  in  one  hand,  a 
sponge  in  the  other ;  crying  out  to  him  to  strike  fair, 
but  suggesting  all  sorts  of  stratagems ;  advising  him  as 
he  fought,  wiping  away  the  blood,  raising  him  when 
overthrown,  placing  him  on  his  knee,  putting  the  mouth 
of  the  brandy  bottle  between  his  teeth,  and  from  his 
own  mouth,  filled  with  water,  blowing  a  fine  rain  into 
his  eyes  and  ears,  —  a  thing  which  revives  even  a  dying 
man.  If  he  was  referee,  he  saw  that  there  was  no  foul 
play;  prevented  any  one,  whomsoever  he  might  be, 
from  assisting  the  combatants,  excepting  the  seconds ; 
declared  the  man  beaten  who  did  not  fairly  face  his 
opponent ;  saw  that  the  time  between  the  rounds  did  not 
exceed  half  a  minute ;  prevented  butting,  declaring  who- 
ever resorted  to  it  beaten;  and  forbade  a  man's  being 
hit  when  down.  All  this  scientific  knowledge,  however, 
did  not  make  him  a  pedant,  or  destroy  his  ease  of  man- 
ner in  society. 

When  Lord  David  was  referee,  rough,  pimple-faced, 
unshorn  friends  of  either  combatant  never  dared  to  come 
to  the  aid  of  the  failing  man ;  nor  in  order  to  upset  the 
chances  of  the  betting  jump  over  the  barrier,  enter  the 
ring,  break  the  ropes,  pull  down  the  stakes,  or  interfere 
in  any  way  in  the  contest.  He  was  one  of  the  few 
referees  they  dared  not  attempt  to  bully. 

No  one  could  train  like  him.  The  pugilist  whose 
trainer  he  consented  to  become  was  sure  to  win.  Lord 
David  would  choose  a  Hercules,  —  massive  as  a  rock, 
tall  as  a  tower,  —  and  make  a  child  of  him.  The  prob- 
lem was  to  turn  that  human  rock  from  a  defensive  to 
an  offensive  state.     In  this  he  excelled.     Having  once 


236  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

adopted  the  Cyclops,  he  never  left  him.  He  became  his 
nurse ;  he  measured  out  his  wine,  weighed  his  meat, 
and  counted  his  hours  of  sleep.  It  was  he  who  invented 
the  athlete's  admirable  rules,  afterwards  reproduced  by 
Morely  :  in  the  morning,  a  raw  egg  and  a  glass  of  sherry ; 
at  twelve,  some  slices  of  a  leg  of  mutton,  almost  raw, 
with  tea;  at  four,  toast  and  tea;  in  the  evening,  pale 
ale  and  toast ;  after  which  he  undressed  his  man,  rubbed 
him,  and  put  him  to  bed.  In  the  street,  he  never  lost 
sight  of  him,  keeping  him  out  of  every  danger,  —  run- 
away horses,  carriage-wheels,  drunken  soldiers,  and 
pretty  girls.  He  watched  over  his  virtue.  This  mater- 
nal solicitude  was  continually  adding  some  new  accom- 
plishment  to  the  pupil's  education.  He  taught  him  tha 
blow  with  the  fist  which  breaks  the  teeth,  and  the  twist  of 
the  thumb  which  gouges  out  the  eye.  "What  could  be 
more  touching  than  this  devotion  ?  In  this  way  he  was 
also  preparing  himself  for  the  public  life  to  which  he 
would  be  called  later  on.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to  be- 
come an  accomplished  gentleman. 

Lord  David  Dirry-Moir  was  passionately  fond  of  open- 
air  exhibitions,  of  shows,  of  circuses  with  wild  beasts, 
of  the  caravans  of  mountebanks,  of  clowns,  tumblers, 
merrymen,  open-air  farces,  and  the  wonders  of  a  fair. 
The  true  noble  is  he  who  smacks  of  the  people.  There- 
fore it  was  that  Lord  David  frequented  the  taverns  and 
low  haunts  of  London  and  the  Cinque  Ports.  In  order 
to  be  able  at  need,  and  without  compromising  his  rank 
in  the  white  squadron,  to  be  cheek-by-jowl  with  a  top- 
man  or  a  calker,  he  used  to  wear  a  sailor's  jacket  when 
he  went  into  the  slums.  For  such  disguise  his  not 
wearing  a  wig  was  convenient;  for  even  under  Louis 
XIV.  the  people  clung  to  their  hair  like  the  lion  to  his 
mane.  This  gave  him  great  freedom  of  action.  The 
low  people  whom  Lord  David  used  to  meet,  and  with 


THE  LEADER  OF  FASHION.  237 

whom  he  mixed,  held  him  in  high  esteem,  without  evei 
dreaming  that  he  was  a  lord.  They  called  him  Tom- 
Jim-Jack.  Under  this  name  he  was  quite  famous  and 
very  popular  among  the  dregs  of  the  people.  He  played 
the  blackguard  in  a  masterly  style,  and  did  not  hesitate 
to  use  his  fists  if  necessary.  This  phase  of  his  fashion- 
able life  was  highly  appreciated  by  Lady  Josiana. 


CHAPTER  V. 

QUEEN  ANNE. 


ABOVE  this  couple  there  was  Anne,  Queen  of  Eng- 
land. A  very  ordinary  woman  was  Queen  Anne. 
She  was  gay,  benevolent,  august  —  to  a  certain  extent. 
No  quality  of  hers  amounted  either  to  a  virtue  or  to  a 
vice.  Her  flesh  was  bloated,  her  wit  heavy,  her  good- 
nature stupid.  She  was  at  once  stubborn  and  weak. 
As  a  wife,  she  was  both  faithless  and  faithful,  —  having 
favourites  to  whom  she  gave  her  heart,  and  a  husband 
for  whom  she  kept  her  bed.  As  a  Christian,  she  was  at 
once  a  heretic  and  a  bigot.  She  had  one  beauty,  —  the 
well-developed  neck  of  a  Niobe ;  the  rest  of  her  person 
was  indifferently  formed.  She  was  a  clumsy  coquette, 
and  a  chaste  one.  Her  skin  was  white  and  fine ;  she 
displayed  a  great  deal  of  it.  It  was  she  who  introduced 
the  fashion  of  necklaces  of  large  pearls  clasped  round 
the  throat.  She  had  a  narrow  forehead,  sensual  lips, 
fleshy  cheeks,  large  eyes,  short  sight.  Her  short  sight 
extended  to  her  mind.  Beyond  a  burst  of  merriment 
now  and  then,  almost  as  ponderous  as  her  anger,  she 
lived  in  a  sort  of  taciturn  grumble  and  a  grumbling  si- 
lence. Words  escaped  from  her  which  had  to  be  guessed 
at.  She  was  a  mixture  of  a  good  woman  and  a  mis- 
chievous devil.  She  liked  surprises,  which  is  extremely 
woman-like.  She  drank.  She  had  fits  of  rage ;  she 
was  violent,   a  brawler.     Anne  was  a  pattern,  roughly 


QUEEN  ANNE.  239 

sketched,  of  the  universal  Eve.     Her  husband  was  a 
Dane,  thoroughbred. 

A  Tory,  Anne  governed  through  the  Whigs.  Nobody 
could  have  been  more  awkward  than  Anne  in  directing 
affairs  of  State.  She  let  things  happen  as  they  would. 
Her  entire  policy  was  hare-brained.  She  excelled  in 
bringing  about  great  catastrophes  from  little  causes. 
When  a  desire  to  rule  seized  her,  she  called  it  giving  "  a 
stir  with  the  poker.  "  She  would  say  with  an  air  of 
profound  thought,  "  No  peer  can  keep  his  hat  on  before 
the  king  except  De  Courcy,  Baron  Kingsale,  an  Irish 
peer.  "  Or,  "  It  would  be  an  injustice  if  my  husband 
were  not  to  be  Lord  High  Admiral,  since  my  father 
was.  "  And  she  made  George  of  Denmark  Lord  Admiral 
of  England  and  of  all  her  Majesty's  plantations.  She 
was  incessantly  exhaling  bad  humour ;  she  did  not  ex- 
plain her  thought,  she  exuded  it.  There  was  something 
of  the  Sphinx  in  this  goose. 

Anne  rather  liked  rough  fun,  teasing,  and  practical 
jokes.  Could  she  have  made  Apollo  a  hunchback,  it 
would  have  delighted  her ;  but  she  would  have  left  him 
a  god.  Good-natured,  her  plan  was  to  allow  no  one  to 
despair,  and  yet  to  worry  everybody.  She  often  had  a 
rough  word  in  her  mouth ;  a  little  more,  and  she  would 
have  sworn  like  Elizabeth.  From  time  to  time  she 
would  take  from  a  pocket  which  she  wore  in  her  skirt  a 
little  round  box  of  chased  silver,  on  which  was  her  por- 
trait in  profile,  between  the  two  letters  Q.  A.  ;  she 
would  open  this  box,  and  take  from  it  on  her  finger  a 
little  pomade,  with  which  she  reddened  her  lips;  and 
having  coloured  her  mouth,  she  would  laugh.  She  was 
greedily  fond  of  the  flat  Zealand  ginger-bread  cakes ;  she 
was  proud  of  being  fat. 

More  of  a  Puritan  than  anything  else,  Anne  would 
nevertheless  have  liked  to  devote  herself  to  stage  plays 


240  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

She  had  an  absurd  academy  of  music,  copied  after  that 
of  France.  In  1700,  a  Frenchman  named  Forteroche 
wanted  to  build  a  royal  circus  at  Paris,  at  a  cost  of  four 
hundred  thousand  francs,  which  scheme  was  opposed  by 
D'Argenson.  This  Forteroche  went  over  to  England, 
and  proposed  to  Queen  Anne  to  build  in  London  a  theatre 
finer  than  that  of  the  King  of  France,  — with  which  idea 
the  queen  was  immediately  charmed.  Like  Louis  XIV., 
she  liked  to  be  driven  at  a  gallop.  Her  teams  and  relays 
would  sometimes  do  the  distance  between  London  and 
Windsor  in  less  than  an  hour  and  a  quarter. 


IL 

In  Anne's  time,  no  meeting  was  allowed  without  the 
permission  of  two  justices  of  the  peace.  The  convening 
of  twelve  persons,  even  if  it  were  only  to  eat  oysters  and 
drink  porter,  was  a  felony.  Under  her  reign,  compara- 
tively mild  in  other  respects,  impressing  for  the  navy  was 
carried  on  with  extreme  violence,  —  a  gloomy  evidence 
that  the  Englishman  is  a  subject  rather  than  a  citizen. 
For  centuries  England  suffered  under  this  kind  of  tyranny, 
which  gave  the  lie  to  all  the  old  charters  of  liberty,  and 
which  France  considered  a  good  cause  for  triumph  and 
indignation.  What  in  some  degree  diminishes  the  tri- 
umph is,  that  while  sailors  were  being  impressed  in 
England,  soldiers  were  being  impressed  in  France.  In 
every  great  town  of  France,  any  able-bodied  man,  going 
through  the  streets  about  his  business,  was  liable  to  be 
shoved  by  the  crimps  into  a  house  called  "  the  oven. " 
There  he  was  shut  up  with  others  in  the  same  plight ; 
those  fit  for  service  were  picked  out,  and  the  recruiters 
sold  them  to  the  officers.  In  1695  there  were  thirty  of 
these  "  ovens  "  in  Paris. 


QUEEN  ANNE.  241 

The  laws  against  Ireland,  emanating  from  Queen 
Anne,  were  atrocious.  Anne  was  born  in  1664,  two 
years  before  the  great  fire  in  London,  and  the  astrologers 
(there  were  some  left;  witness  Louis  XIV.,  who  was 
born  with  the  assistance  of  an  astrologer,  and  swaddled 
in  a  horoscope)  predicted  that  being  the  elder  sister  of 
fire  she  would  be  queen.  And  so  she  was,  thanks  to 
astrology  and  the  revolution  of  1688.  She  had  the 
humiliation  of  having  only  Gilbert,  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury, for  god-father.  To  be  the  god-child  of  the  Pope 
was  no  longer  possible  in  England ;  a  mere  primate  is 
but  a  poor  sort  of  god-father.  Anne  had  to  put  up  with 
it,  however.  It  was  her  own  fault;  why  was  she  a 
Protestant  ? 

Denmark  had  paid  for  Anne's  virginity  (virginitas 
empta,  as  the  old  charters  expressed  it)  by  a  dowry  of 
£6,250  a  year,  secured  on  the  bailiwick  of  Wardinburg 
and  the  island  of  Fehmarn.  She  followed,  without  con- 
viction and  by  routine,  the  traditions  of  William.  The 
English  under  this  regime  born  of  a  revolution  enjoyed 
as  much  liberty  as  they  could  lay  hands  on  between  the 
Tower  of  London,  in  which  the  orators  were  incarcerated, 
and  the  pillory,  in  which  the  writers  were  placed. 
Anne  spoke  a  little  Danish  in  her  private  chats  with 
her  husband,  and  a  little  French  in  her  private  chats 
with  Bolingbroke.  Wretched  gibberish ;  but  the  height 
of  English  fashion,  especially  at  court,  was  to  talk 
French.  There  was  never  a  ton  mot  but  in  French. 
Anne  paid  a  deal  of  attention  to  the  coinage  of  the 
realm,  especially  to  the  copper  coins,  which  are  the 
common  and  popular  ones;  she  wanted  to  cut  a  great 
figure  on  them.  Six  different  farthings  were  struck  dur- 
ing her  reign.  On  the  back  of  the  first  three  she  had 
merely  a  throne  struck ;  on  the  back  of  the  fourth  she 
ordered  a  triumphal  chariot;    and  on  the  back  of  the 

VOL.   XIX.  —  16 


242  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

sixth  a  goddess  holding  a  sword  in  one  hand  and  an 
olive  branch  in  the  other,  with  the  scroll,  Bello  et  pace. 
Her  father,  James  II.  was  blunt  and  cruel;  she  was 
brutal.  At  the  same  time  she  was  really  mild  au  fond, 
—  a  contradiction  which  only  appears  such.  A  fit  of 
anger  metamorphosed  her.  Heat  sugar,  and  it  will 
boil. 

Anne  was  popular.  England  likes  female  rulers. 
France  excludes  them.  Why  ?  One  reason  is  apparent 
at  once ;  perhaps  there  is  really  no  other.  With  English 
historians  Elizabeth  embodies  grandeur ;  Anne,  good-na- 
ture. As  they  will ;  be  it  so.  But  there  is  nothing  deli- 
cate in  the  reigns  of  these  women.  The  lines  are  heavy. 
It  is  gross  grandeur  and  gross  good-nature.  As  to  their 
immaculate  virtue,  England  is  tenacious  of  it,  and  we 
are  not  going  to  oppose  the  idea.  Elizabeth  was  a  vir- 
gin tempered  by  Essex;  Anne,  a  wife  complicated  by 
Bolingbroke. 

IIL 

One  idiotic  habit  of  the  people  is  to  attribute  to  the 
king  what  they  do  themselves.  They  fight :  whose  is 
the  glory?  The  king's.  They  pay  :  whose  is  the  gen- 
erosity? The  king's.  Then  the  people  love  him  for 
being  so  rich.  The  king  receives  a  crown  from  the  poor, 
and  gives  them  back  a  farthing.  How  generous  he  is ! 
The  colossus  which  is  really  only  the  pedestal  contem- 
plates the  pygmy  which  is  really  the  statue.  How  great 
this  myrmidon  is !  He  is  on  my  back.  A  dwarf  has  an 
excellent  way  of  making  himself  taller  than  a  giant :  it 
is  to  perch  himself  on  his  shoulders.  But  that  the  giant 
should  allow  it,  there  is  the  wonder ;  and  that  he  should 
admire  the  height  of  the  dwarf,  there  is  the  folly.  Ah, 
the  simplicity  of  mankind! 


QUEEN  ANNE.  243 

The  equestrian  statue,  reserved  for  kings  alone,  is  an 
excellent  figure  of  royalty :  the  horse  is  the  people. 
Only,  the  horse  becomes  transfigured  by  degrees.  It 
begins  as  an  ass ;  it  ends  as  a  lion.  Then  it  throws  its 
rider;  and  you  have  1642  in  England  and  1789  in 
France.  Sometimes  it  devours  him  ;  and  you  have  1649 
in  England,  and  1793  in  France.  That  the  lion  should 
relapse  into  the  donkey  is  astonishing;  but  it  is  so. 
This  was  occurring  in  England.  It  had  resumed  the 
pack-saddle ;  namely,  idolatry  of  the  crown. 

Queen  Anne,  as  we  have  just  observed,  was  popular. 
What  was  she  doing  to  make  herself  so?  Nothing. 
Nothing !  —  that  is  all  that  is  asked  of  the  sovereign  of 
England.  He  receives  for  that  nothing  £1,250,000  a 
year.  In  1705,  England,  which  had  had  but  thirteen  men- 
of-war  under  Elizabeth  and  thirty-six  under  James  I. , 
counted  a  hundred  and  fifty  in  her  fleet.  The  Eng- 
lish had  three  armies, —  five  thousand  men  in  Catalonia, 
ten  thousand  in  Portugal,  fifty  thousand  in  Flanders ; 
and  besides,  was  paying  £1,666,666  a  year  to  monarchi- 
cal and  diplomatic  Europe,  —  a  sort  of  prostitute  which 
the  English  people  has  always  had  in  keeping.  Parlia- 
ment having  voted  a  patriotic  loan  of  thirty-four  million 
francs  of  annuities,  there  had  been  a  rush  to  the  ex- 
chequer to  subscribe  it.  England  was  sending  a  squad- 
ron to  the  East  Indies,  and  a  squadron  to  the  West  of 
Spain  under  Admiral  Leake,  without  mentioning  the 
reserve  of  four  hundred  sail  under  Admiral  Sir  Cloudes- 
ley  Shovel.  England  had  lately  annexed  Scotland.  It 
was  the  interval  between  Hochstadt  and  Eamillies,  and 
the  first  of  these  victories  was  foretelling  the  second. 
England,  in  its  cast  of  the  net  at  Hochstadt,  had  made 
prisoners  of  twenty-seven  battalions  and  four  regiments 
of  dragoons,  and  deprived  France  of  one  hundred  leagues 
of  country, — France,  who  was  drawing  back  dismayed 


244  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

from  the  Danube  to  the  Khine.  England  was  stretching 
out  her  hand  towards  Sardinia  and  the  Balearic  Islands ; 
she  was  bringing  into  her  ports  in  triumph  ten  Spanish 
line-of-battle  ships,  and  many  a  galleon  laden  with 
gold.  Hudson's  Bay  and  Straits  were  already  partially 
relinquished  by  Louis  XIV.  It  was  believed  that  he 
was  about  to  give  up  his  hold  on  Acadia,  St.  Christo- 
pher's, and  Newfoundland;  and  that  he  would  be  only 
too  happy  if  England  would  but  allow  the  King  of 
Trance  to  catch  a  few  cod  off  Cape  Breton.  England  was 
about  to  inflict  upon  him  the  mortification  of  compelling 
him  to  demolish  the  fortifications  of  Dunkirk.  Mean- 
while, she  had  taken  Gibraltar,  and  was  taking  Barce- 
lona. What  great  things  accomplished !  How  was  it 
possible  to  refuse  Anne  admiration  for  taking  the  trouble 
of  living  at  the  period  ? 

From  a  certain  point  of  view,  the  reign  of  Anne  seems 
to  be  a  reflection  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  In  that 
great  race  called  *  history, "  Queen  Anne  certainly  bears 
some  resemblance  to  the  French  monarch.  Like  him, 
she  played  at  a  great  reign ;  she  had  her  monuments, 
her  arts,  her  victories,  her  captains,  her  men  of  letters, 
her  privy  purse  to  pension  celebrities,  her  gallery  of 
chefs-d'oeuvre,  side  by  side  with  those  of  his  Majesty. 
Her  court,  too,  was  a  cortege,  with  the  features  of  a 
triumph,  an  order,  and  a  march.  It  was  a  miniature 
copy  of  all  the  great  men  of  Versailles,  who  were  not 
giants  themselves.  In  it  there  is  enough  to  deceive  the 
eye ;  add  "  God  save  the  Queen, "  which  might  have  been 
taken  from  Lulli,  and  the  ensemble  becomes  an  illusion. 
Not  a  personage  is  missing.  Christopher  Wren  is  a  very 
passable  Mansard ;  Somers  is  as  good  as  Lamoignon ; 
Anne  has  a  Eacine  in  Dryden,  a  Boileau  in  Pope,  a  Col- 
bert in  Godolphin,  a  Louvois  in  Pembroke,  and  a  Turenne 
in   Marlborough.     Heighten   the   wigs   and    lower   the 


QUEEN  ANNE.  245 

foreheads :  the  whole  effect  is  solemn  and  pompous,  and 
the  Windsor  of  the  time  bears  a  faded  resemblance  to 
Marly.  Still,  the  whole  was  effeminate,  and  Anne's 
Pere  Tellier  was  called  Sarah  Jennings.  However, 
there  is  an  outline  of  incipient  irony,  which  fifty  years 
later  was  to  turn  to  philosophy,  in  the  literature  of  the 
age ;  and  the  Protestant  Tartuffe  is  unmasked  by  Swift 
just  in  the  same  way  as  the  Catholic  Tartuffe  is  de- 
nounced by  Moliere.  Although  the  England  of  that 
period  quarrels  and  fights  with  France,  she  imitates  her 
and  draws  enlightenment  from  her;  and  the  light  on 
the  facade  of  England  is  French  light.  It  is  a  pity  that 
Anne's  reign  lasted  but  twelve  years,  or  the  English 
would  not  hesitate  to  call  it  the  century  of  Anne,  —  as 
we  say  the  century  of  Louis  XIV.  Anne  appeared  in 
1702,  as  Louis  XIV.  declined.  It  is  one  of  the  curios- 
ities of  history  that  the  rise  of  this  pale  planet  coincides 
with  the  setting  of  the  purple  planet,  and  that  at  the 
very  time  France  had  the  Sun  king  England  should  have 
had  the  Moon  queen. 

One  fact  is  well  worthy  of  note.  Louis  XIV.,  al- 
though they  waged  war  upon  him,  was  greatly  admired 
in  England.  "  He  is  just  the  kind  of  a  king  they  need 
in  France, "  said  the  English.  The  love  of  the  English 
for  their  own  liberty  is  mingled  with  a  certain  accept- 
ance of  servitude  for  others.  Their  favourable  opinion 
of  the  chains  which  bind  their  neighbours  sometimes 
amounts  to  enthusiasm  for  the  despot  next  door. 

To  sum  up,  Anne  rendered  her  people  hureux,  as  the 
French  translator  of  Beeverell's  book  repeats  three  times, 
with  graceful  reiteration,  in  the  sixth  and  ninth  page  of 
his  dedication  and  the  third  of  his  preface. 


246  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

IV. 

Queen  Anne  bore  the  Duchess  Josiana  a  slight  grudge, 
—  for  two  reasons.  Firstly,  because  she  thought  the 
Duchess  Josiana  handsome.  Secondly,  because  she 
thought  the  Duchess  Josiana 's  betrothed  handsome. 
Two  reasons  for  jealousy  are  sufficient  for  a  woman ;  one 
is  sufficient  for  a  queen.  Let  us  add  that  she  bore  her 
a  grudge  for  being  her  sister. 

Anne  did  not  like  women  to  be  pretty.  She  consid- 
ered it  contrary  to  good  morals.  As  for  herself,  she 
was  ugly,  —  not  from  choice,  however.  She  derived  a 
part  of  her  religion  from  that  ugliness.  Josiana,  beau- 
tiful and  philosophical,  was  a  cause  of  vexation  to  the 
queen.  A  pretty  duchess  is  not  a  desirable  sister  to  an 
ugly  queen. 

There  was  another  grievance,  — Josiana's  "  improper  " 
birth. 

Anne  was  the  daughter  of  Anne  Hyde,  a  simple  gen- 
tlewoman, lawfully  but  vexatiously  married  by  James  II. 
when  Duke  of  York.  Anne,  having  this  inferior  blood 
in  her  veins,  felt  herself  but  half  royal ;  and  Josiana, 
having  come  into  the  world  irregularly,  drew  closer 
attention  to  the  incorrectness,  less  great,  but  really  ex- 
isting, in  the  birth  of  the  queen.  The  daughter  of  a 
mesalliance  disliked  to  see  the  daughter  of  bastardy  so 
near  her.  It  was  an  unpleasant  reminder.  Josiana  had 
a  right  to  say  to  Anne,  "  My  mother  was  at  least  as  good 
as  yours.  "  Of  course  at  court  no  one  said  so,  but  they 
evidently  thought  it.  This  was  a  bore  for  her  Royal 
Majesty.  Why  did  this  Josiana  exist  ?  What  had  put 
it  into  her  head  to  be  born  ?  What  good  was  a  Josiana  ? 
Some  relationships  are  detrimental. 

Nevertheless,  Anne  smiled  on  Josiana.  Perhaps  she 
might  even  have  liked  her,  had  she  not  been  her  sister. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BARKILPHEDRO. 

IT  is  well  to  know  what  people  are  doing,  and  a  certain 
surveillance  is  wise. 

Josiana  had  Lord  David  watched  by  a  creature  of  hers, 
whom  she  thought  she  could  trust,  and  whose  name  was 
Barkilphedro.  Lord  David  had  Josiana  secretly  watched 
by  a  creature  of  his,  of  whom  he  felt  sure,  and  whose 
name  was  Barkilphedro.  Queen  Anne,  for  her  part, 
kept  herself  secretly  informed  of  the  actions  and  con- 
duct of  the  Duchess  Josiana  her  bastard  sister,  and  of 
Lord  David  her  future  brother-in-law  (on  the  left  hand), 
by  a  creature  of  hers  whom  she  trusted  implicitly,  and 
whose  name  was  Barkilphedro. 

Barkilphedro  had  not  always  held  the  magnificent 
position  of  whisperer  into  three  ears.  He  was  an  old 
servant  of  the  Duke  of  York.  He  had  tried  to  be  a 
clergyman,  but  had  failed.  The  Duke  of  York,  an  Eng- 
lish and  Roman  prince,  compounded  of  royal  Popery 
and  legal  Anglicanism,  had  his  Catholic  household  and 
his  Protestant  household,  and  might  have  pushed  Bar- 
kilphedro in  one  or  the  other  hierarchy;  but  he  did  not 
judge  him  to  be  Catholic  enough  to  make  him  almoner, 
or  Protestant  enough  to  make  him  chaplain,  —  so  that 
between  two  religions  Barkilphedro  found  himself  with 
his  soul  on  the  ground.  Not  a  bad  posture,  either,  for 
certain  reptile  souls ;  and  some  roads  are  impracticable, 
so  that  one  must  crawl  flat  on  one's  belly. 


248  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

An  obscure  but  fattening  servitude  had  long  made  up 
Barkilphedro's  existence.  Service  is  something;  but  he 
wanted  power  besides.  He  was,  perhaps,  about  to  at- 
tain it  when  James  II.  fell ;  then  he  had  to  begin  all 
over  again.  There  was  no  chance  for  him  under  Wil- 
liam III.,  a  sullen  prince,  exercising  in  his  mode  of 
reigning  a  prudery  which  he  believed  to  be  probity. 
Barkilphedro,  when  his  protector  James  II.  was  de- 
throned, did  not  lapse  at  once  into  rags.  There  is  a 
something  which  survives  deposed  princes,  and  which 
feeds  and  sustains  their  parasites.  The  remains  of  the 
exhaustible  sap  causes  leaves  to  live  on  for  two  or  three 
days  on  the  branches  of  the  uprooted  tree ;  then,  all  at 
once,  the  leaf  yellows  and  dries  up :  and  thus  it  is  with 
the  courtier.  Thanks  to  that  embalming  process  which 
is  called  legitimacy,  the  prince  himself,  although  fallen 
and  cast  away,  is  preserved ;  it  is  not  so  with  the  cour- 
tier, who  is  much  more  dead  than  the  king.  The  king 
over  yonder  is  a  mummy ;  the  courtier  here  is  a  phan- 
tom. To  be  the  shadow  of  a  shadow  is  leanness  indeed. 
Hence  Barkilphedro  became  famished ;  then  he  took  up 
the  character  of  a  man  of  letters.  But  he  was  thrust 
out  even  from  the  kitchens.  Sometimes  he  knew  not 
where  to  sleep.  "  Who  will  give  me  shelter?  "  he  would 
ask.  He  struggled  on.  All  that  is  interesting  in  pa- 
tience in  distress  he  possessed.  He  had,  besides,  the 
talent  of  the  termite,  —  knowing  how  to  bore  a  hole 
from  the  bottom  to  the  top.  By  dint  of  making  use  of 
the  name  of  James  II. ,  of  old  memories,  of  anecdotes  of 
fidelity,  and  of  touching  stories,  he  pierced  the  Duchess 
Josiana's  heart. 

Josiana  took  a  liking  to  this  man  of  poverty  and  wit, 
—  an  interesting  combination.  She  introduced  him  to 
Lord  Dirry-Moir,  gave  him  a  shelter  in  the  servants' 
hall  among  her  domestics,  retained  him  in  her  house- 


BARKILPHEDRO.  249 

hold,  was  kind  to  him,  and  sometimes  even  spoke  to 
him.  Barkilphedro  knew  neither  hunger  nor  cold  again. 
Josiana  addressed  him  in  the  second  person ;  it  was  the 
fashion  for  great  ladies  to  do  so  to  men  of  letters,  who 
allowed  it.  The  Marquise  de  Mailly  received  Roy, 
whom  she  had  never  seen  before,  in  bed,  and  said  to 
him  :  "  C'est  toi  qui  as  fait  l'Annde  galante  !  Bonjour.  " 
Later  on,  the  men  of  letters  returned  the  custom.  The 
day  came  when  Fabre  d 'Eglantine  said  to  the  Duchesse 
de  Rohan  :  "  N'est-tu  pas  la  Chabot  ?  " 

For  Barkilphedro  to  be  "  thee'd  "  and  "  thou'd  "  was  a 
triumph ;  he  was  overjoyed  by  it.  He  had  aspired  to 
this  contemptuous  familiarity.  "  Lady  Josiana  thees- 
and-thous  me, "  he  would  say  to  himself ;  and  he  would 
rub  his  hands.  He  profited  by  this  theeing-and-thouing 
to  make  further  progress.  He  became  a  constant  attend- 
ant in  Josiana 's  private  rooms,  —  in  no  way  trouble- 
some, unnoticed ;  in  fact,  the  duchess  would  almost 
have  changed  her  shift  before  him.  All  this,  however, 
was  precarious.  Barkilphedro  was  aiming  at  an  assured 
position.  A  duchess  is  only  a  half-way  house ;  an  un- 
derground passage  which  did  not  lead  to  the  queen  was 
not  worth  boring. 

One  day  Barkilphedro  said  to  Josiana :  "  Would  your 
Grace  like  to  make  my  fortune  ? " 

"  What  dost  thou  want  ?  " 

"  An  appointment.  " 

"  An  appointment,  —  for  thee  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam. " 

"  What  an  idea !  —  thou  to  ask  for  an  appointment ! 
thou,  who  art  good  for  nothing.  " 

"  That 's  just  the  reason.  " 

Josiana  burst  out  laughing.  "  Among  the  offices  to 
which  thou  art  unsuited,  which  dost  thou  desire  ?  " 

"  That  of  cork-drawer  of  the  bottles  of  the  ocean.  " 


250  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Josiana's  laughter  redoubled.  "  What  meanest  thou  ? 
Thou  art  jesting." 

"  No,  madam. " 

"  To  amuse  myself,  I  shall  answer  you  seriously, " 
said  the  duchess.  "  What  dost  thou  wish  to  be  ?  Eepeat 
it." 

"  Uncorker  of  the  bottles  of  the  ocean.  " 

*  Everything  is  possible  at  court.  Is  there  an  ap- 
pointment of  that  kind  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam. " 

"  That  is  news  to  me.     Go  on.  " 

"  There  is  such  an  appointment,  however. " 

"  Swear  it  by  the  soul  which  thou  dost  not  possess. " 

■  I  swear  it.  " 

"  I  do  not  believe  thee.  " 

"  Thank  you,  madam.  " 

"  Then  thou  wishest  —     Say  it  again.  " 

"  To  uncork  the  bottles  of  the  ocean.  " 

"  That  is  a  situation  which  can  give  you  very  little 
trouble.     It  is  like  grooming  a  bronze  horse.  " 

"  Very  nearly.  " 

"  Nothing  to  do.  Well,  't  is  a  situation  that  would 
suit  thee.  Thou  art  just  about  equal  to  it,  I  should 
judge.  " 

"  You  see  I  am  good  for  something.  " 

"  Come !  thou  art  talking  nonsense.  Is  there  such  an 
appointment  ?  " 

Barkilphedro  assumed  an  attitude  of  deferential  grav- 
ity :  "  Madam,  you  had  an  august  father,  James  II.  the 
king,  and  you  have  an  illustrious  brother-in-law,  George 
of  Denmark,  Duke  of  Cumberland ;  your  father  was,  and 
your  brother  is,  Lord  High  Admiral  of  England  —  " 

"  Is  what  thou  tellest  me  any  news  ?  I  know  all  that 
as  well  as  thou  ?  " 

"  But  here  is  something  your  Grace  does  not  know. 


BARKILPHEDRO.  251 

In  the  sea  there  are  three  kinds  of  things, — those  at  the 
bottom,  lagan ;  those  which  float,  flotsam;  those  which 
the  sea  casts  up  on  the  shore,  jetsam.  " 

"  And  then  ? " 

"  These  three  things  —  lagan,  flotsam,  and  jetsam  — 
belong  to  the  Lord  High  Admiral. " 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  Your  Grace  understands.  " 

"No." 

"  All  that  is  in  the  sea,  all  that  sinks,  all  that  floats, 
all  that  is  cast  ashore,  —  all  belongs  to  the  Admiral  of 
England. " 

■  Everything !     Eeally  ?     And  then  ?  " 

"  Except  the  sturgeon,  which  belongs  to  the  king.  " 

"  I  should  have  thought, "  said  Josiana,  "  that  every- 
thing would  have  belonged  to  Neptune.  " 

"  Neptune  is  a  fool.  He  has  given  up  everything. 
He  has  allowed  the  English  to  take  everything. " 

"  Finish  what  thou  wert  saying.  " 

"  '  Prizes  of  the  sea  '  is  the  name  given  to  such  treasure 
trove. " 

"  Be  it  so.  " 

"  It  is  boundless.  There  is  always  something  float- 
ing, something  being  cast  up.  It  is  the  contribution  of 
the  sea,  — the  tax  which  the  ocean  pays  to  England. " 

"  With  all  my  heart.     But  pray  conclude. " 

"  Your  Grace  understands  that  in  this  way  the  ocean 
creates  a  department.  " 

"  Where  ? " 

8  At  the  Admiralty.  " 

"  What  department  ?  " 

"  The  Sea-Prize  Department  " 

"Well?" 

"  The  department  is  subdivided  into  three  offices,  — ■ 
Lagan,  Flotsam,  and  Jetsam ;  and  there  is  an  officer  in 
each. " 


252  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  A  ship  at  sea  writes  to  give  notice  on  any  subject  to 
those  on  land,  —  that  it  is  sailing  in  such  a  latitude, 
that  it  has  met  a  sea-monster,  that  it  is  in  sight  of 
shore,  that  it  is  in  distress,  that  it  is  about  to  founder, 
that  it  is  lost,  etc.  The  captain  takes  a  bottle,  puts 
into  it  a  bit  of  paper  on  which  he  has  written  the  infor- 
mation, corks  up  the  flask,  and  casts  it  into  the  sea.  If 
the  bottle  goes  to  the  bottom,  it  is  in  the  department  of 
the  lagan  officer ;  if  it  floats,  it  is  in  the  department  of  the 
flotsam  officer ;  if  it  be  cast  up  on  shore,  it  concerns  the 
jetsam  officer. " 

*  And  wouldst  thou  like  to  be  the  jetsam  officer  ?  " 

"  Precisely  so. " 

"  And  that  is  what  thou  callest  uncorking  the  bottles 
of  the  ocean  ?  " 

"  Since  there  is  such  an  appointment. " 

"  Why  dost  thou  wish  for  the  last-named  place  in 
preference  to  both  the  others  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  vacant  just  now.  " 

"  In  what  does  the  appointment  consist  ?  " 

"  Madam,  in  1598  a  tarred  bottle,  picked  up  by  a  man 
conger-fishing  on  the  strand  of  Epidium  Promontorium, 
was  brought  to  Queen  Elizabeth;  and  a  parchment 
drawn  out  of  it  gave  information  to  England  that  Hol- 
land had  taken,  without  saying  anything  about  it,  an 
unknown  country,  Nova  Zembla ;  that  the  capture  had 
taken  place  in  June,  1596 ;  that  in  that  country  people 
were  eaten  by  bears  ;  and  that  the  manner  of  passing  the 
winter  was  described  on  a  paper  enclosed  in  a  musket- 
case  hanging  in  the  chimney  of  the  wooden  house  built 
in  the  island  and  left  by  the  Dutchmen,  who  were  all 
dead  ;  and  that  the  chimney  was  built  of  a  barrel  with 
the  end  knocked  out,  sunk  into  the  roof.  " 

"  I  don't  understand  much  of  thy  rigmarole.  * 


BARKILPHEDRO.  253 

"  Be  it  so.  Elizabeth  understood.  A  country  the 
more  for  Holland  was  a  country  the  less  for  England. 
The  bottle  which  had  given  the  information  was  con- 
sidered of  importance ;  and  thenceforward  an  order  was 
issued  that  anybody  who  should  find  a  sealed  bottle  on 
the  sea-shore  should  take  it  to  the  Lord  High  Admiral 
of  England,  under  penalty  of  the  gallows.  The  Admiral 
intrusts  the  opening  of  such  bottles  to  an  officer,  who 
presents  the  contents  to  the  Queen,  if  there  be  any  rea- 
son for  so  doing.  " 

u  Are  many  such  bottles  brought  to  the  Admiralty  ?  " 

u  But  few.  But  it 's  all  the  same.  The  appointment 
exists.  There  is  a  room  and  lodgings  at  the  Admiralty 
for  the  official.  " 

"  And  what  is  one  paid  for  this  kind  of  doing 
nothing  ? " 

"  One  hundred  guineas  a  year.  " 

"  And  thou  wouldst  trouble  me  for  that  much  V 

"  It  is  enough  to  live  upon.  " 

"  Like  a  beggar.  " 

"  As  becomes  one  of  my  sort.  " 

"  One  hundred  guineas  !     It 's  a  bagatelle.  " 

"  What  keeps  you  for  a  minute  keeps  us  for  a  year. 
That 's  the  advantage  of  being  poor. " 

"  Thou  shalt  have  the  place.  " 

A  week  afterwards,  thanks  to  Josiana's  exertions  and 
to  the  influence  of  Lord  David  Dirry-Moir,  Barkilphedro 
was  installed  at  the  Admiralty,  —  safe  thenceforward, 
drawn  out  of  his  precarious  existence,  lodged,  and 
boarded,  with  a  salary  of  a  hundred  guineas. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BABKILPHEDKO   GNAWS   HIS   WAT. 

THERE  is  one  essential  thing,  —  that  is  to  be  un- 
grateful. Barkilphedro  did  not  fail  in  this  par- 
ticular. Having  received  so  many  benefits  from  Josiana, 
he  had  naturally  but  one  thought,  —  to  revenge  himself 
upon  her.  When  we  add  that  Josiana  was  beautiful, 
great,  young,  rich,  powerful,  and  illustrious,  while 
Barkilphedro  was  ugly,  little,  old,  poor,  dependent, 
obscure,  —  he  must  necessarily  revenge  himself  for  all 
this  as  well.  When  a  man  is  made  of  darkness,  how 
can  he  forgive  so  many  beams  of  light? 

Barkilphedro  was  an  Irishman  who  had  denied  Ire- 
land, —  a  bad  type.  Barkilphedro  had  but  one  thing  in 
his  favour,  —  that  he  had  a  very  big  belly.  A  big 
belly  passes  for  a  sign  of  kind-heartedness ;  but  this 
belly  was  only  an  addition  to  Barkilphedro 's  hypocrisy, 
for  the  man  was  full  of  malice. 

What  was  Barkilphedro's  age?  Any  age  whatever; 
that  is  to  say,  the  age  necessary  for  the  project  of  the 
moment.  He  was  old  in  his  wrinkles  and  grey  hairs, 
young  in  the  activity  of  his  mind ;  he  was  at  once  ac- 
tive and  ponderous, — a  sort  of  hippopotamus-monkey. 
A  royalist,  certainly;  a  republican, — who  knows?  A 
Catholic,  perhaps ;  a  Protestant,  without  doubt.  For 
Stuart,  probably ;  for  Brunswick,  evidently.  To  be  For 
is  a  power  only  on  condition  of  being  at  the  same  time 
Against.     Barkilphedro  practised  this  wisdom. 


BARKILPHEDRO  GNAWS  HIS   WAY.  255 

The  appointment  of  drawer  of  the  bottles  of  the  ocean 
was  not  as  absurd  as  Barkilphedro  had  appeared  to  make 
out.  The  complaints  (which  would  in  these  times  be 
termed  denunciations)  of  Garcia  Fernandez,  in  his  "  Fol- 
lowers of  the  Sea, "  against  the  stealing  of  jetsam,  called 
right  of  wreck,  and  against  the  pillaging  of  wreck  by 
the  inhabitants  of  the  sea-coast,  had  created  a  sensation 
in  England,  and  had  secured  for  the  shipwrecked  this 
reform,  —  that  their  goods,  chattels,  and  property,  in- 
stead of  being  stolen  by  the  country-people,  were  confis- 
cated by  the  Lord  High  Admiral.  All  the  debris  of  the 
sea  cast  upon  the  English  shore  (merchandise,  broken 
hulls  of  ships,  bales,  chests,  etc. )  belonged  to  the  Lord 
High  Admiral ;  but  —  and  here  was  revealed  the  impor- 
tance of  the  place  solicited  by  Barkilphedro  —  the  floating 
receptacles  containing  messages  and  information  received 
particular  attention  at  the  Admiralty.  Shipwrecks  ex- 
cite England's  deep  solicitude.  Navigation  being  her 
chief  occupation,  shipwrecks  are  one  of  her  greatest 
causes  of  anxiety.  England  is  kept  in  a  state  of  per- 
petual anxiety  by  the  sea.  The  little  glass  bottle  cast 
into  the  waves  from  the  doomed  ship  contains  intelli- 
gence precious  from  every  point  of  view,  —  intelligence 
concerning  the  ship ;  intelligence  concerning  the  crew ; 
intelligence  concerning  the  place,  the  time,  the  manner 
of  shipwreck ;  intelligence  concerning  the  winds  which 
broke  up  the  vessel;  intelligence  concerning  the  cur- 
rents which  bore  the  floating  flask  ashore.  The  office 
filled  by  Barkilphedro  has  been  abolished  more  than  a 
century,  but  it  had  its  utility.  The  last  holder  was 
William  Hussey,  of  Doddington  in  Lincolnshire.  The 
man  who  held  it  was  a  sort  of  guardian  of  the  sea.  All 
the  closed  and  sealed  vessels,  bottles,  flasks,  jars,  cast 
upon  the  English  coast  by  the  tide,  were  brought  to  him. 
He  alone  had  the  right  to  open  them  j  he  was  the  first  to 


256  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

learn  the  secrets  they  contained ;  he  put  them  in  order, 
and  ticketed  them  with  his  signature.  The  expression 
"  loger  un  papier  au  greffe, "  still  used  in  the  Channel 
Islands,  is  thence  derived.  However,  one  precaution  was 
certainly  taken.  Not  one  of  these  bottles  could  be  un- 
sealed except  in  the  presence  of  two  examiners  of  the 
Admiralty  office  who  were  sworn  to  secrecy,  and  who 
signed,  conjointly  with  the  holder  of  the  jetsam  office, 
the  official  report  of  the  opening.  But  these  officials  being 
pledged  to  secrecy,  Barkilphedro  was  invested  with  con- 
siderable discretionary  power.  It  depended  upon  him,  to 
a  certain  extent,  to  suppress  a  fact  or  bring  it  to  light. 

These  frail  floating  messages  were  far  from  being  as 
rare  and  insignificant  as  Barkilphedro  had  asserted. 
Some  reached  land  with  very  little  delay ;  others,  after 
many  years.  It  depended  on  the  winds  and  the  cur- 
rents. The  fashion  of  casting  bottles  into  the  sea  is 
rather  out  of  date  now,  like  that  of  thank  offerings ;  but 
in  those  religious  times,  those  who  were  about  to  die 
were  glad  thus  to  despatch  their  last  thoughts  to  God 
and  men,  and  at  times  these  messages  from  the  sea  were 
plentiful  at  the  Admiralty.  A  parchment  preserved  in 
the  hall  at  Audlyene  (ancient  spelling),  with  notes  by 
the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  Grand  Treasurer  of  England  under 
James  I.,  bears  witness  that  in  the  one  year  1615  fifty- 
two  flasks,  bladders,  and  tarred  vessels,  containing  men- 
tion of  sinking  ships,  were  brought  and  registered  in 
the  records  of  the  Lord  High  Admiral. 

Court  appointments  are  the  drop  of  oil  in  the  widow's 
cruse,  they  are  ever  on  the  increase.  Thus  it  is  that 
the  porter  has  become  chancellor,  and  the  groom  con- 
stable. The  special  officer  charged  with  the  appoint- 
ment desired  and  obtained  by  Barkilphedro  was  usually 
a  confidential  man ;  Elizabeth  had  wished  that  it  should 
be  so.     At  court,  to  speak  of  confidence  is  to  speak  of 


BARKILPHEDRO  GNAWS  HIS  WAY.  257 

intrigue  ;  and  to  speak  of  intrigue  is  to  speak  of  advance- 
ment. This  functionary  had  come  to  be  a  personage  of 
some  consideration.  He  was  a  clerk,  and  ranked  directly 
after  the  two  grooms  of  the  almonry.  He  had  the  right 
of  entrance  into  the  palace,  —  at  least,  what  was  called 
the  humble  entrance  (hn.milis  intro'itus), —  and  even  into 
the  bedchamber;  for  it  was  the  custom  that  he  should 
inform  the  monarch,  on  occasions  of  importance,  of  the 
objects  found,  which  were  often  very  curious,  —  the 
wills  of  men  in  despair,  farewells  to  fatherland,  revela- 
tions of  falsified  logs,  bills  of  lading,  crimes  committed 
at  sea,  legacies  to  the  crown,  etc., —  and  should  account 
from  time  to  time  to  the  king  or  queen  concerning  the 
opening  of  these  ill-omened  bottles.  It  was  the  Black 
Cabinet  of  the  ocean.  Elizabeth,  who  was  always  glad 
of  an  opportunity  to  speak  Latin,  used  to  ask  Tonfield, 
of  Coley  in  Berkshire,  jetsam  officer  in  her  reign,  when 
he  brought  her  one  of  these  papers  cast  up  by  the  sea : 
*  Quid  mihi  scribit  Neptunus  ?  " 

The  way  had  been  eaten,  the  insect  had  succeeded. 
Barkilphedro  had  at  last  reached  the  queen.  This  was 
all  he  wanted.  Was  it  in  order  that  he  might  make  his 
fortune  ?  No.  It  was  to  destroy  that  of  others.  A 
much  greater  satisfaction.  To  destroy  affords  some 
persons  unspeakable  delight.  To  be  imbued  with  a 
vague  but  implacable  desire  to  destroy,  and  never  to 
lose  sight  of  that  desire,  is  not  a  characteristic  of  every 
one ;  but  Barkilphedro  possessed  this  fixity  of  purpose 
in  an  eminent  degree.  He  clung  to  his  resolve  with  all 
the  tenacity  of  a  bull-dog.  To  feel  himself  inexorable 
afforded  him  no  end  of  grim  satisfaction.  So  long  as  he 
had  a  victim  in  his  clutches,  or  a  certainty  of  injuring 
him  in  his  soul,  he  asked  nothing  more.  He  shivered 
content  if  he  knew  that  his  neighbour  was  suffering  with 
the  cold. 

TOL.   XIX.  —  17 


258  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Catesby,  the  colleague  of  Guy  Fawkes,  in  the  Popish 
powder  plot,  said  :  "  I  would  n't  miss  seeing  Parliament 
blown  upside  down  for  a  million  sterling.  "  Barkilphedro 
was  that  meanest  and  most  terrible  of  things,  — an  envi- 
ous man.  There  is  always  room  for  envy  at  court.  Courts 
abound  in  impertinent  people,  in  idlers,  in  rich  loungers 
hungering  for  gossip ;  in  those  who  seek  for  needles  in 
haystacks ;  in  triflers,  in  banterers  bantered ;  in  witty 
ninnies,  who  cannot  do  without  converse  with  an  envi- 
ous man.  What  a  refreshing  thing  the  evil  you  hear 
about  others  is !  Envy  is  good  stuff  to  make  a  spy  of. 
There  is  a  profound  analogy  between  that  natural  pas- 
sion envy  and  that  social  function  espionage.  The  spy 
hunts  on  some  other  person's  account,  like  the  dog;  tne 
envious  man  hunts  on  his  own  account  like  the  cat. 
The  envious  man  is  generally  a  fierce  man ;  but  Bar- 
kilphedro was  singularly  cautious  and  reserved.  He 
guarded  his  secret  well,  and  racked  himself  with  his 
hate.  Enormous  baseness  implies  enormous  vanity.  He 
was  liked  by  those  whom  he  amused,  and  hated  by  all 
others;  but  he  felt  that  he  was  scorned  by  those  who 
hated  him,  and  despised  even  by  those  who  liked  him. 
He  restrained  himself ;  all  his  gall  simmered  noiselessly. 
He  was  a  silent  prey  of  the  Furies.  He  had  a  talent 
for  swallowing  everything.  Paroxysms  of  internal  rage 
convulsed  him,  fierce  fires  smouldered  unseen  in  his 
breast.  He  was  a  smoke- consuming  man  of  passion.  The 
surface  was  serene.  He  was  kind,  prompt,  easy,  amia- 
ble, obliging.  Never  mind  to  whom,  never  mind  where, 
he  bowed  with  every  breath  of  wind ;  he  bowed  to  the 
earth.  What  a  source  of  fortune  to  have  such  a  reed 
for  a  spine! 

Such  crafty  and  venomous  beings  are  not  so  rare  as  is 
believed.  We  live  surrounded  by  ill-natured,  crawling 
things.     Why  are  such  malevolent  creatures  allowed  to 


BARKILPHEDRO  GNAWS  HIS  WAT.  259 

exist?  A  natural  question!  The  dreamer  continually 
puts  it  to  himself,  and  the  thinker  never  solves  it. 
Hence  the  sad  eye  of  the  philosophers  ever  fixed  upon 
that  mountain  of  darkness  which  is  destiny,  and  from 
the  top  of  which  the  colossal  spectre  of  evil  casts  hand- 
fuls  of  serpents  over  the  earth. 

Barkilphedro's  body  was  obese,  and  his  face  lean,  — 
a  broad  chest  and  a  bony  countenance.  His  nails  were 
grooved  and  short,  his  fingers  knotty,  his  thumbs  flat, 
his  hair  coarse,  his  temples  wide  apart ;  and  his  broad, 
low  forehead  was  that  of  a  murderer.  His  small  eyes 
were  nearly  hidden  by  his  bushy  eyebrows.  His  long, 
sharp,  and  flabby  nose  nearly  met  his  mouth.  Barkil- 
phedro,  properly  attired  as  an  emperor,  would  have  cer- 
tainly resembled  Domitian.  His  muddy,  sallow  face 
might  have  been  modelled  in  slimy  paste ;  his  immova- 
ble cheeks  were  like  putty;  he  had  all  kinds  of  ugly 
wrinkles ;  the  angle  of  his  jaw  was  massive,  his  chin 
heavy,  his  ears  coarse.  In  repose,  and  seen  in  profile, 
his  upper  lip  was  raised  at  an  acute  angle,  showing  two 
teeth.  Those  teeth  seemed  to  glare  at  you;  for  the 
teeth  can  glare,  just  as  the  eye  can  bite.  Patience, 
temperance,  continence,  reserve,  self-control,  amenity, 
deference,  gentleness,  politeness,  sobriety,  chastity,  com- 
pleted and  finished  Barkilphedro ;  but  he  degraded  these 
virtues  by  possessing  them. 

In  a  short  time  Barkilphedro  gained  a  firm  foothold  at 
court 


CHAPTEK  VIIL 

INFERI. 

THERE  are  two  ways  of  gaining  a  foothold  at  court, 
—  in  the  clouds,  and  one  is  august ;  in  the  mud, 
and  one  is  powerful.  In  the  first  case,  you  belong  on 
Olympus.  In  the  second  case,  you  belong  in  the  pri- 
vate closet.  He  who  belongs  on  Olympus  has  but  the 
thunderbolt  to  serve  him ;  he  who  is  in  the  private  closet 
has  the  police  at  his  command. 

The  private  closet  contains  all  the  instruments  of 
government,  and  sometimes  (for  it  is  a  traitor)  its  chas- 
tisements as  well.  Generally  it  is  less  tragic.  It  is 
there  that  Alberoni  admires  Vendome.  Royal  person- 
ages willingly  make  it  their  place  of  audience ;  it  takes 
the  place  of  the  throne.  Louis  XIV.  receives  the 
Duchess  of  Burgundy  there ;  Philip  V.  is  shoulder  to 
shoulder  there  with  the  queen.  The  priest  penetrates 
into  it.  The  private  closet  is  sometimes  a  branch  of  the 
confessional ;  therefore  it  is  that  at  court  there  are  un- 
derground fortunes,  —  not  always  the  least.  If  under 
Louis  XI.  you  would  be  great,  be  Pierre  de  Rohan, 
Marshal  of  France ;  if  you  would  be  influential,  be  Olivier 
le  Daim,  the  barber.  If  you  would  be  glorious  under 
Marie  de  Medicis,  be  Sillery,  the  Chancellor ;  if  you 
would  be  a  person  of  consideration,  be  Hannon,  the 
maid.  If  you  would  be  illustrious  under  Louis  XV. ,  be 
Choiseul,  the  minister ;  if  you  would  be  formidable,  be 


INFERI.  261 

Lebel,  the  valet.  Given  Louis  XIV.,  Bontemps  who 
makes  his  bed  is  more  powerful  than  Louvois  who  raises 
his  armies,  and  Turenne  who  gains  his  victories.  Take 
Pere  Joseph  from  Richelieu,  and  you  have  little  left. 
There  is  mystery  at  least;  his  eminence  in  scarlet  is 
magnificent,  his  eminence  in  grey  is  terrible.  What 
power  in  being  a  worm !  All  the  Narvaez  combined 
with  all  the  O'Donnells  achieve  less  than  one  Sister 
Patrocinio.  Of  course,  the  condition  of  this  power  is 
littleness.  If  you  would  remain  powerful,  remain  petty, 
—  be  nothing.  The  serpent  in  repose,  twisted  into  a 
circle,  is  a  figure  at  the  same  time  of  the  infinite  and  of 
naught. 

One  of  these  ignoble  opportunities  had  fallen  to 
Barkilphedro.  He  had  crawled  where  he  wanted.  Ver- 
min can  get  in  anywhere.  Louis  XIV.  had  bugs  in  his 
bed  and  Jesuits  in  his  policy.  There  is  no  incompati- 
bility in  this.  In  this  world,  to  gravitate  is  to  oscil- 
late. One  pole  is  attracted  to  the  other.  Francis  I.  is 
attracted  by  Triboulet ;  Louis  XV.  is  attracted  by  Lebel. 
There  exists  a  deep  affinity  betweeD  extreme  elevation 
and  extreme  debasement.  It  is  the  scullion  who  directs ; 
nothing  is  easier  of  comprehension.  It  is  the  person  be- 
low who  pulls  the  string.  No  position  could  be  more 
convenient.  He  is  the  eye,  and  he  has  the  ear.  He  is 
the  eye  of  the  government;  he  has  the  ear  of  the  king. 
To  have  the  ear  of  the  king  is  to  draw  and  shut  at  will 
the  bolt  of  the  royal  conscience,  and  to  throw  into  that 
conscience  whatever  one  wishes.  The  mind  of  a  king 
is  your  cupboard ;  if  you  are  a  rag-picker,  it  is  your  bas- 
ket. The  ears  of  kings  are  not  their  own;  consequently 
the  poor  devils  are  not  altogether  responsible  for  their 
actions.  He  who  is  not  master  of  his  own  thoughts  is 
not  accountable  for  his  own  deeds. 

A  king  obeys  —  what  ?     Any  evil  spirit  buzzing  from 


262  THE  MAN   WHO  LAUGHS. 

outside  in  his  ear;  a  noisome  fly  of  the  slums.  This 
buzzing  rules  him.  A  reign  is  a  dictation :  the  loud 
voice  is  the  sovereign ;  the  muffled  voice  is  the  sover- 
eignty. Those  who  know  how  to  distinguish  this 
muffled  voice  in  a  reign,  and  to  hear  its  whispers,  are 
the  real  historians. 


CHAPTEE   IX. 

HATE   IS   AS   STRONG   AS   LOVE. 

QUEEN  ANNE  had  several  of  these  ignoble  ad. 
visers  around  her.  Barkilphedro  was  one.  He 
also  secretly  worked,  influenced,  and  plotted  upon  Lady 
Josiana  and  Lord  David.  As  we  have  said,  he  whis- 
pered in  three  ears, —  one  more  than  Dangeau.  Dangeau 
whispered  in  but  two,  in  the  days  when,  thrusting  him- 
self between  Louis  XIV. ,  who  was  in  love  with  Henri- 
etta his  sister-in-law,  and  Henrietta,  who  was  in  love 
with  Louis  XIV.  her  brother-in-law,  he  as  Louis's  secre- 
tary, without  the  knowledge  of  Henrietta,  and  as  Henri- 
etta's without  the  knowledge  of  Louis,  wrote  the  ques- 
tions and  answers  of  both  the  love-making  marionettes. 

Barkilphedro  was  so  cheerful,  so  compliant,  so  in- 
capable of  espousing  the  cause  of  any  one,  so  ugly,  so 
mischievous,  that  it  was  quite  natural  that  a  regal  per- 
sonage should  soon  be  unable  to  do  without  him.  Once 
Anne  had  tried  Barkilphedro,  she  would  have  no  other 
flatterer.  He  flattered  her  as  they  flattered  Louis  the 
Great,  by  disparaging  her  neighbours.  "  The  king  be- 
ing ignorant, "  says  Madame  de  Montchevreuil,  "  one  is 
obliged  to  sneer  at  the  savants.  "  To  poison  the  sting, 
from  time  to  time,  is  the  acme  of  art.  Nero  loves  to  see 
Locusta  at  work. 

Royal  palaces  are  very  easily  entered ;  a  pretext  suffices. 
Barkilphedro,  having  found  this  pretext,  his  position 
with  the  queen  soon  became  the  same  as  that  with  the 


264  THE   MAN   WHO   LAUGHS. 

Duchess  Josiana,  —  that  of  an  indispensable  domestic 
animal.  A  witticism  ventured  one  day  immediately  led 
to  a  perfect  understanding  of  the  queen's  character,  and 
a  correct  estimate  of  her  kindness  of  heart.  The  queen 
was  greatly  attached  to  her  Lord  Steward,  William 
Cavendish,  Duke  of  Devonshire,  who  was  very  stupid. 
This  lord,  who  had  obtained  every  Oxford  degree  and  yet 
did  not  know  how  to  spell,  one  fine  morning  committed 
the  folly  of  dying.  To  die  is  a  very  imprudent  thing  at 
court,  for  then  there  is  no  further  restraint  in  speaking 
of  you.  The  queen,  in  the  presence  of  Barkilphedro, 
lamented  the  event,  finally  exclaiming,  with  a  sigh : 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  so  many  virtues  should  have  been 
borne  and  served  by  so  poor  an  intellect.  " 

"  Dieu  veuille  avoir  son  ane !  "  whispered  Barkilphe- 
dro,  in  a  low  voice,  and  in  French. 

The  queen  smiled.  Barkilphedro  noted  the  smile, 
and  concluded  that  biting  pleased  her.  Free  license  had 
been  given  to  his  spite.  From  that  day  he  thrust  his 
curiosity  everywhere,  and  his  malignity  with  it.  No 
one  ventured  to  oppose  him,  so  greatly  was  he  feared. 
He  who  can  make  the  king  laugh  makes  all  the  others 
tremble.  He  was  a  cunning  rascal.  Every  day  he 
worked  his  way  forward  —  underground.  Barkilphedro 
became  a  necessity ;  and  many  great  persons  honoured 
him  with  their  confidence,  to  the  extent  of  intrusting 
him  with  their  disgraceful  commissions.  There  are 
wheels  within  wheels  at  court.  Barkilphedro  became 
the  motive  power.  Have  you  ever  noticed,  in  certain 
mechanisms,  the  smallness  of  the  motive  wheel  ? 

Josiana,  in  particular,  who,  as  we  have  explained, 
made  use  of  Barkilphedro's  talents  as  a  spy,  trusted  him 
so  implicitly  that  she  had  not  hesitated  to  intrust  him 
with  a  pass-key,  by  means  of  which  he  was  able  to  enter 
her  apartments  at  any  hour.     This  excessive  license  of 


HATE  IS  AS  STRONG  AS  LOVE.  265 

insight  into  private  life  was  in  fashion  in  the  seven- 
teenth century  ;  it  was  called  "  giving  the  key.  "  Josiana 
had  given  two  of  these  confidential  keys;  Lord  David 
had  one,  Barkilphedro  the  other.  However,  to  enter 
straight  into  a  bedchamber  was  in  the  old  code  of  man- 
ners a  thing  not  in  the  least  out  of  the  way.  Thence 
resulted  startling  incidents.  La  Ferte*,  suddenly  draw- 
ing back  the  bed-curtains  of  Mademoiselle  Lafont,  found 
inside  Sainson  of  the  Black  Musketeers. 

Barkilphedro  excelled  in  making  those  cunning  dis- 
coveries which  place  the  great  in  the  power  of  the 
humble.  Like  every  perfect  spy,  the  cruelty  of  the  exe- 
cutioner and  the  patience  of  a  micograph  entered  largely 
into  his  composition.  He  was  a  born  courtier.  Every 
courtier  is  a  noctambulist.  The  courtier  prowls  about 
in  the  night  with  a  dark-lantern  in  his  hand.  He  lights 
up  the  spot  he  wishes,  and  remains  in  darkness  himself. 
What  he  is  seeking  with  his  lantern  is  not  a  man,  it  is 
a  fool.  What  he  finds  is  the  king.  Kings  do  not  like 
to  see  those  about  them  aspire.  Irony  aimed  at  any  one 
except  themselves  has  a  charm  for  them.  The  talent  of 
Barkilphedro  consisted  in  a  perpetual  dwarfing  of  the 
peers  and  princes  to  the  advantage  of  her  Majesty's 
stature,  thereby  increased  proportionately. 

The  pass-key  held  by  Barkilphedro  was  made  with 
a  different  set  of  wards  at  each  end,  so  as  to  open  the 
private  apartments  in  both  Josiana;s  favourite  residences, 
—  Hunkerville  House  in  London,  and  Corleone  Lodge 
at  Windsor.  These  two  houses  were  part  of  the  Clan- 
charlie  inheritance.  Hunkerville  House  was  close  to 
Oldgate.  Oldgate  was  a  gate  of  London,  which  was 
entered  by  the  Harwich  road,  and  on  which  was  dis- 
played a  statue  of  Charles  II.,  with  a  painted  angel 
above  his  head,  and  a  carved  lion  and  unicorn  beneath 
his  feet.     From  Hunkerville  House,  in  an  easterly  wind, 


266  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

you  could  hear  the  bells  of  St.  Marylebone.  Corleone 
Lodge  was  a  Florentine  palace  of  brick  and  stone,  with 
a  marble  colonnade,  built  on  pilework,  at  Windsor,  near 
the  head  of  the  wooden  bridge,  and  having  one  of  the 
finest  courts  in  England.  In  this  last  palace,  near 
Windsor  Castle,  Josiana  was  within  the  queen's  reach. 
Nevertheless,  Josiana  liked  it. 

Barkilphedro 's  influence  over  the  queen,  though  ap- 
parently so  insignificant,  was  deeply  rooted.  To  exter- 
minate these  noxious  weeds  from  a  court  is  extremely 
difficult,  for  though  they  have  taken  a  deep  root,  they 
offer  no  hold  above  the  surface.  To  root  out  a  Koque- 
laure,  a  Triboulet,  or  a  Brummel,  is  almost  impossible. 

From  day  to  day,  and  more  and  more,  did  the  queen 
take  Barkilphedro  into  her  good  graces.  Sarah  Jen- 
nings is  famous;  Barkilphedro  is  unknown, —  his  exist- 
ence remains  ignored  ;  the  name  of  Barkilphedro  has  not 
reached  as  far  as  history.  All  the  moles  are  not  caught 
by  the  mole-trapper.  Barkilphedro,  having  once  been 
a  candidate  for  orders,  had  studied  a  little  of  everything. 
Skimming  all  things  results  in  naught.  One  may  be  a 
victim  of  the  omnis  res  scibilis.  Having  the  vessel  of 
the  Danaides  in  one's  head  is  the  misfortune  of  a  legion 
of  learned  men,  who  may  be  termed  the  sterile.  What 
Barkilphedro  had  put  into  his  brain  had  left  it  empty. 

The  mind,  like  Nature,  abhors  a  vacuum.  Into  empti- 
ness, where  Nature  puts  love,  the  mind  often  puts  hate. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  hating  merely  for  the  sake  of 
hating.  A  man  hates  because  he  must  do  something. 
Gratuitous  hatred,  —  what  a  strange  expression !  It 
means  hate  which  is  in  itself  its  own  reward.  The  bear 
lives  by  licking  his  claws,  —  not  indefinitely,  of  course  ; 
the  claws  must  be  revictualled, —  something  must  be  put 
into  them.  A  hatred  of  mankind  in  general  is  sweet, 
and  suffices  for  a  time ;  but  one  must  eventually  have  a 


HATE  IS  AS   STRONG  AS  LOVE.  267 

definite  object.  An  animosity  diffused  over  all  creation 
is  exhausting,  like  every  solitary  pleasure.  Hate  with- 
out an  object  is  like  a  shooting-match  without  a  target ; 
what  lends  interest  to  the  game  is  a  heart  to  be  pierced. 
One  cannot  hate  solely  for  the  honour  of  it ;  some  sea- 
soning is  necessary, —  a  man,  a  woman,  somebody,  to 
destroy. 

This  service  of  making  the  game  interesting,  of  offer- 
ing an  aim,  of  adding  a  zest  to  hatred  by  fixing  it  on 
an  object,  of  amusing  the  hunter  by  the  sight  of  his 
living  prey,  of  giving  the  watcher  the  hope  of  the  smok- 
ing and  boiling  blood  about  to  flow,  of  amusing  the 
bird-catcher  by  the  credulity  of  the  uselessly  winged 
lark,  of  being  a  victim  unwittingly  reared  for  murder 
by  a  master-mind,  —  all  this  exquisite  and  horrible  ser- 
vice, of  which  the  person  rendering  it  is  unconscious, 
Josiana  rendered  Barkilphedro.  Thought  is  a  projectile. 
Barkilphedro  had,  from  the  very  first,  aimed  at  Josiana 
the  evil  intentions  which  were  in  his  mind.  An  inten- 
tion and  a  carbine  are  alike.  Barkilphedro  aimed  at 
Josiana,  directing  all  his  secret  malice  against  the 
duchess.  That  astonishes  you!  What  has  the  bird 
done  at  which  you  fire  ?  You  want  to  eat  it,  you  say ; 
and  so  it  was  with  Barkilphedro. 

Josiana  could  not  be  wounded  in  the  heart ;  the  spot 
where  that  enigma  lies  is  hard  to  wound.  But  she 
could  be  wounded  in  the  head ;  that  is,  in  her  pride.  It 
was  there  that  she  deemed  herself  strong,  and  that  she 
was  really  very  weak.  Barkilphedro  had  found  this 
out.  If  Josiana  had  been  able  to  read  his  mind  clearly, 
if  she  had  been  able  to  distinguish  what  lay  in  ambusl* 
behind  his  smile,  that  proud  woman  would  have  trem- 
bled. Fortunately  for  the  tranquillity  of  her  sleep, 
she  was  in  complete  ignorance  of  the  man's  real 
character. 


268  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

The  unforeseen  lurks  one  knows  not  where.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  petty  hatred ;  hatred  is  always  dan- 
gerous, even  in  the  smallest  creature.  An  elephant 
hated  by  even  an  ant  is  in  danger. 

Barkilphedro  did  not  know  as  yet  what  he  was  going 
to  do  to  Josiana;  but  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do 
something.  To  have  come  to  this  decision  was  a  great 
step  taken.  To  crush  Josiana  utterly  would  have  been 
too  great  a  triumph.  He  could  not  hope  for  that ;  but 
to  humiliate  her,  wound  her,  bring  her  to  grief,  redden 
her  proud  eyes  with  tears  of  rage, —  what  happiness! 
He  counted  on  it.  Tenacious,  diligent,  faithful  to  the 
torment  of  his  neighbour,  not  to  be  moved  from  his  pur- 
pose,—  Nature  had  not  formed  him  for  nothing.  He 
understood  how  to  find  the  flaw  in  Josiana's  golden 
armour,  and  how  to  make  the  blood  of  this  goddess 
flow. 

What  benefit,  we  ask  again,  would  accrue  to  him  in 
so  doing?  An  immense  benefit, —  doing  evil  to  one 
who  had  done  good  to  him.  What  is  an  envious  man  ? 
An  ungrateful  one.  He  hates  the  sun  that  lights  and 
warms  him.  Zoilus  hated  that  benefactor  of  mankind, 
Homer.  To  inflict  on  Josiana  what  would  nowadays  be 
called  vivisection ;  to  have  her,  all  convulsed,  on  his 
anatomical  table;  to  dissect  her  alive,  at  his  leisure, 
in  some  surgery ;  to  cut  her  up,  bit  by  bit,  while  she 
shrieked  with  agony,  —  this  dream  delighted  Barkil- 
phedro !  To  arrive  at  this  result  it  was  necessary  to 
suffer  some  himself ;  he  did  so  willingly.  We  may 
pinch  ourselves  with  our  own  pincers ;  the  knife  as  it 
shuts  cuts  our  fingers,  —  what  does  that  matter  ?  That 
he  should  partake  of  Josiana's  torture  was  a  matter  of 
little  moment.  The  executioner  handling  the  red-hot 
iron,  when  about  to  brand  a  prisoner,  does  not  mind  a 
little   burn.      As   another   suffers   so  much,   he  suffers 


HATE  IS  AS   STRONG  AS  LOVE.  269 

nothing.  To  see  the  victim's  writhings  makes  the  in 
fiicter  forget  his  own  pain.  Destroy,  by  all  means, 
come  what  may  ! 

To  plot  evil  against  others  is  mingled  with  an  accept- 
ance of  some  responsibility.  We  risk  ourselves  in  the 
danger  which  we  are  bringing  upon  another,  because  the 
chain  of  events  sometimes,  of  course,  brings  unexpected 
accidents.  This  does  not  stop  the  really  malicious  man. 
His  enjoyment  is  proportionate  to  the  victim's  agony. 
The  malicious  man  delights  only  in  the  sufferings  of 
others ;  pain  reflects  itself  on  him  in  a  sense  of  welfare. 
The  Duke  of  Alva  used  to  warm  his  hands  at  the  Stake. 
The  pile  was  torture,  the  reflection  of  it  pleasure.  That 
such  feelings  should  be  possible  makes  one  shudder. 
Our  dark  side  is  unfathomable.  Supplice  exquis,  — 
"  exquisite  torture  "  (the  expression  is  in  Bodin  1), —  has 
perhaps  this  terrible  triple  sense :  search  for  the  torture, 
suffering  of  the  tortured,  delight  of  the  torturer.  Am- 
bition, appetite, —  all  such  words  signify  some  one  sac- 
rificed for  some  one's  gratification.  Can  it  be  that  the 
outpourings  of  our  wishes  flow  naturally  in  the  direc- 
tion to  which  we  most  incline,  that  of  evil  ?  One  of  the 
hardest  labours  of  the  just  man  is  to  expunge  malevolence 
from  his  soul.  Almost  all  our  desires,  when  closely 
examined,  contain  what  we  dare  not  avow.  In  the 
thoroughly  wicked  man  this  malevolence  exists  in 
hideous  perfection.  So  much  the  worse  for  others  sig- 
nifies so  much  the  better  for  himself.  Oh,  the  deep 
depravity  of  the  human  heart! 

Josiana,  with  that  sense  of  security  which  results 
from  ignorant  pride,  had  a  supreme  contempt  for  all 
danger.  The  feminine  power  of  disdain  is  extraordi- 
nary. Josiana's  was  unreasoning,  involuntary,  and  con- 
fident.    Barkilphedro  was  in  her  eyes  so  contemptible 

i  Book  IV.  p.  196. 


270  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

that  she  would  have  been  astonished  had  any  one  hinted 
at  such  a  thing  as  danger  from  that  source.  So  she  went 
and  came  and  laughed  before  this  man  who  was  watch- 
ing her  with  evil  eyes,  biding  his  time. 

In  proportion  as  he  waited,  his  determination  to  im- 
bittei-  this  woman's  life  augmented.  In  the  mean  time 
he  gave  himself  excellent  reasons  for  his  determination. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  scoundrels  are  deficient  in 
self-esteem ;  they  enter  into  details  with  themselves  in 
their  lofty  monologues,  and  they  carry  matters  with  a 
high  hand.  True,  this  Josiana  had  bestowed  charity  on 
him  f  She  had  thrown  some  crumbs  of  her  enormous 
wealth  to  him,  as  to  a  beggar;  she  had  nailed  and 
riveted  him  to  an  office  which  was  unworthy  him.  Yes ; 
that  he,  Barkilphedro,  almost  a  clergyman,  of  varied  and 
profound  talents,  a  learned  man,  with  the  material  in 
him  for  a  bishop,  should  have  to  spend  his  time  register- 
ing nasty,  patience-trying  shards ;  that  he  should  have 
to  pass  his  life  in  the  garret  of  a  register-office,  gravely 
uncorking  stupid  bottles  incrusted  with  all  the  nastiness 
of  the  sea,  deciphering  musty  parchments,  dirty  wills, 
and  other  illegible  stuff  of  the  kind,  —  was  all  the  fault  of 
this  Josiana.  Worst  of  all,  this  creature  "  thee'd  "  and 
"  thou'd  "  him!  And  should  he  not  revenge  himself? 
Should  he  not  punish  such  conduct?  In  that  case, 
there  would  be  no  such  thing  as  justice  here  below  1 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  FLAME   WHICH  WOULD   BE   SEEN   IF   MAN   WERE 
TRANSPARENT. 

WHAT!  this  woman;  this  extravagant  thing;  this 
libidinous  dreamer;  this  bold  creature  under  a 
princess's  coronet;  this  Diana  through  pride,  not  yet 
captured  merely  because  chance  had  so  willed  it;  this 
illegitimate  daughter  of  a  low-lived  king  who  had  not 
the  intellect  to  keep  his  place ;  this  duchess  by  a  lucky 
hit,  who  being  a  fine  lady  played  the  goddess,  but  who 
had  she  been  poor  would  have  been  a  prostitute,  —  this 
appropriator  of  a  proscribed  man's  goods,  this  overbear- 
ing strumpet,  because  one  day,  he,  Barkilphedro,  had 
not  money  enough  to  buy  his  dinner,  and  to  get  a  lodg- 
ing, had  had  the  impudence  to  seat  him  at  the  corner  of 
a  table  in  her  house,  and  to  put  him  up  in  some  hole  in 
her  intolerable  palace.  Where  ?  Never  mind  where ; 
perhaps  in  the  barn,  perhaps  in  the  cellar,  what  does  it 
matter  ?  —  a  little  better  than  her  valets,  a  little  worse 
than  her  horses.  She  had  taken  advantage  of  his  dis- 
tress (his,  Barkilphedro's)  in  hastening  to  do  him  a  pre- 
tended favour,  —  a  thing  which  the  rich  do  in  order  to 
humiliate  the  poor,  and  attach  them  to  their  pretended 
benefactors  like  curs  led  by  a  string.  Besides,  what  had 
the  service  she  rendered  him  cost  her?  A  service  is 
worth  what  it  costs,  and  no  more.  She  had  too  many 
rooms  in  her  house,  so  she  came  to  Barkilphedro's  aid! 
A  great  boon,  indeed !    Had  she  eaten  a  spoonful  the  les^ 


272  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

of  turtle  soup  for  it  ?  Had  she  deprived  herself  of  any  of 
her  superfluous  luxuries  ?  No.  She  had  only  added  an- 
other to  them,  —  a  good  action  like  a  ring  on  her  finger, 
—  the  relief  of  a  man  of  wit,  the  patronage  of  a  clergy- 
man. She  could  give  herself  airs ;  say,  "  I  lavish  kind- 
ness; I  fill  the  mouths  of  men  of  letters;  I  am  his 
benefactress.  How  lucky  the  wretch  was  to  find  me 
out !  What  a  patroness  of  the  arts  I  am !  "  All  for  hav- 
ing set  up  a  truckle-bed  in  a  wretched  garret  in  the  roof. 

As  for  the  place  in  the  Admiralty  which  Barkilphedro 
owed  to  Josiana,  —  by  Jove !  a  petty  appointment  that ! 
Josiana  had  made  Barkilphedro  what  he  was !  She  had 
created  him !  Be  it  so.  Created  nothing,  —  less  than 
nothing ;  for  in  his  absurd  situation  he  felt  borne  down, 
tongue-tied,  disfigured.  What  did  he  owe  Josiana  ? 
The  thanks  due  from  a  hunchback  to  the  mother  who 
bore  him  deformed.  Behold  your  privileged  ones,  your 
folks  overwhelmed  with  fortune,  your  parvenus,  your 
favourites  of  that  horrid  step-mother,  Fortune!  And 
here,  Barkilphedro,  a  man  of  talent,  was  obliged  to  wait 
on  staircases,  to  bow  to  footmen,  to  climb  to  the  top  of 
the  house  at  night,  to  be  courteous,  assiduous,  pleasant, 
respectful,  and  to  have  a  respectful  grimace  ever  on  his 
face !  Was  it  not  enough  to  make  him  gnash  his  teeth 
with  rage!  And  all  the  while  she  was  putting  pearls 
round  her  neck,  and  making  amorous  poses  for  that  fool 
Lord  David  Dirry-Moir,  —  the  hussy ! 

Never  let  any  one  do  you  a  service ;  he  is  sure  to 
abuse  the  advantage  it  gives  him.  Never  allow  your- 
self to  be  found  in  a  state  of  starvation,  —  some  one  will 
relieve  you.  Because  Barkilphedro  was  starving,  this 
woman  had  thought  it  a  sufficient  pretext  to  give  him 
bread  ;  from  that  moment  he  was  her  servant !  A  crav- 
ing of  the  stomach,  and  you  are  chained  for  life !  To  be 
under  obligations  is   to  be  a  slave.     The  happy,   the 


THE  FLAME  SEEN  IF  MAN  WERE  TRANSPARENT.     273 

powerful,  make  use  of  the  moment  you  stretch  out  your 
hand  to  place  a  penny  in  it ;  and  in  your  hour  of  need 
they  make  you  a  slave,  and  a  slave  of  the  worst  kind, 

—  the  slave  of  an  act  of  charity ;  a  slave  forced  to  love 
the  enslaver.  What  infamy !  what  want  of  delicacy ! 
what  a  blow  to  your  self-respect !  Then  all  is  over.  You 
are  condemned  for  life  to  consider  this  man  good,  that 
woman  beautiful ;  to  approve,  to  applaud,  to  admire,  to 
worship ;  to  prostrate  yourself ;  to  blister  your  knees  by 
long  genuflections ;  to  sugar  your  words  when  you  are 
gnawing  your  lips  with  anger,  when  you  are  smothering 
your  cries  of  fury,  and  when  you  have  within  you  more 
savage  turbulence  and  more  bitter  foam  than  the  ocean  ! 
It  is  thus  that  the  rich  make  slaves  of  the  poor.  The 
slime  of  this  good  action  performed  towards  you  bedaubs 
and  bespatters  you  with  mud  for  evermore. 

The  acceptance  of  alms  is  irremediable.  Gratitude  is 
paralyzing.  A  benefit  has  a  sticky  and  repugnant  adher- 
ence which  deprives  you  of  free  movement.  Those 
odious,  opulent,  and  spoiled  creatures  whose  pity  has 
thus  injured  you  are  well  aware  of  this.  It  is  done,  — 
you  are  their  creature ;  they  have  bought  you !  How  ? 
By  a  bone  taken  from  their  dog  and  cast  to  you !  they 
have  flung  the  bone  at  your  head  ;  you  have  been  stoned  as 
well  as  fed.     It  is  all  one.     Have  you  gnawed  the  bone, 

—  yes  or  no?  You  have  had  your  place  in  the  dog- 
kennel  just  the  same ;  then  be  thankful,  —  be  eternally 
thankful.  Adore  your  masters;  kneel  on  indefinitely. 
A  benefit  implies  an  understood  inferiority  accepted  by 
you.  It  means  that  you  feel  them  to  be  gods  and  your- 
self a  poor  devil.  Your  humiliation  increases  their  im- 
portance ;  your  cringing  form  makes  theirs  seem  more 
upright ;  there  is  an  impertinent  inflection  in  the  very 
tones  of  their  voices.  Their  family  matters,  their  mar- 
riages, their  baptisms,  their  child-bearings,   their  pro- 

VOL.  XIX.  —  18 


274  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

geny,  all  concern  you.  A  wolf-cub  is  born  to  them; 
well,  you  have  to  compose  a  sonnet ;  you  are  a  poet  be- 
cause you  are  so  low.  Isn't  it  enough  to  make  the  stars 
fall  ?  A  little  more,  and  they  would  make  you  wear 
their  old  shoes ! 

"  Whom  have  you  got  there,  my  dear  ?  How  ugly  he 
is  !  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  —  "  I  do  not  know.  A  sort  of 
scholar,  whom  I  feed. "  Thus  converse  these  idiots, 
without  even  lowering  their  voices.  You  hear,  and 
remain  mechanically  amiable.  If  you  are  ill,  your  mas- 
ters will  send  for  the  doctor,  —  not  their  own  ;  occasion- 
ally they  may  even  inquire  after  you.  Being  of  entirely 
different  clay  from  you,  and  so  immeasurably  far  above 
you,  they  are  affable ;  their  superiority  makes  them  con- 
descending ;  they  know  that  equality  is  impossible.  At 
table  they  give  you  a  little  nod ;  sometimes  they  abso- 
lutely know  how  your  name  is  spelt !  They  only  show 
that  they  are  your  protectors  by  walking  unconsciously 
over  all  the  delicacy  and  susceptibility  you  possess.  They 
treat  you  with  good-nature.     Is  all  this  to  be  borne  ? 

No  doubt  Barkilphedro  was  eager  to  punish  Josiana. 
He  must  teach  her  with  whom  she  had  to  deal !  Oh,  my 
rich  lords  and  ladies !  merely  because  you  cannot  eat  up 
everything ;  because  opulence  causes  indigestion,  seeing 
that  your  stomachs  are  no  bigger  than  ours ;  because  it 
is,  after  all,  better  to  distribute  the  remainder  than  to 
throw  it  away,  —  you  exalt  a  morsel  flung  to  the  poor 
into  an  act  of  munificence.  You  give  us  bread,  you 
give  us  shelter,  you  give  us  clothes,  you  give  us  employ- 
ment; and  you  carry  audacity,  folly,  cruelty,  stupidity, 
and  absurdity  to  the  pitch  of  believing  that  we  are 
grateful.  The  bread  is  the  bread  of  servitude ;  the  shel- 
ter is  a  footman's  bedroom;  the  clothes  are  a  livery: 
the  employment  is  ridiculous,  paid  for,  it  is  true,  but 
brutalizing.     Oh,  you  think  you  have  a  right  to  humili- 


THE  FLAME  SEEN  IE  MAN  WERE  TRANSPARENT.     275 

ate  us  with  lodging  and  nourishment,  and  you  imagine 
that  wc  are  your  debtors,  and  count  on  our  gratitude  ? 
Very  well !  we  will  eat  up  your  substance ;  we  will  de- 
vour you  alive,  and  tear  your  heart-strings  with  our 
teeth. 

This  Josiana  !  was  it  not  absurd  ?  What  merit  did 
she  possess  ?  She  had  accomplished  the  wonderful  feat  of 
coming  into  the  world  as  a  testimony  to  the  folly  of  her 
father  and  the  shame  of  her  mother.  She  had  done  us 
the  favour  to  exist ;  and  for  her  kindness  in  becoming  a 
public  scandal,  they  paid  her  millions.  She  had  estates 
and  castles,  warrens,  parks,  lakes,  forests,  and  I  know 
not  what  besides ;  and  with  all  that  she  was  making  a 
fool  of  herself,  and  verses  were  addressed  to  her !  And 
Barkilphedro,  who  had  studied  and  laboured  and  taken 
pains,  and  stuffed  his  eyes  and  his  brain  with  great 
books ;  who  had  grown  mouldy  in  old  works  and  in  sci- 
ence ;  who  was  full  of  wit ;  who  could  command  armies ; 
who  could,  if  he  would,  write  tragedies  like  Otway  and 
Dryden  ;  who  was  made  to  be  an  emperor,  —  Barkilphe- 
dro had  been  reduced  to  allowing  this  nobody  to  prevent 
him  from  dying  of  hunger!  Could  the  usurpation  of 
the  rich,  the  hateful,  spoiled  darlings  of  fortune  go  fur- 
ther ?  They  put  on  a  semblance  of  being  generous  to  us, 
of  protecting  us,  and  we  smile,  —  we  who  would  gladly 
drink  their  blood  and  lick  our  lips  afterwards !  That 
this  low  woman  of  the  court  should  have  the  presump- 
tion to  patronize  him,  and  that  such  a  superior  man  as 
himself  should  be  obliged  to  accept  such  gifts  from  such 
a  hand,  —  what  a  frightful  iniquity  !  What  kind  of  a 
social  system  is  this  which  is  founded  on  such  gross  in- 
justice ?  Would  it  not  be  best  to  take  it  by  the  four 
corners,  and  to  throw  pell-mell  to  the  ceiling  the  damask 
table-cloth,  and  the  festival  and  the  orgies,  and  the  tip- 
pling and  drunkenness,  and  the  guests,  and  those  with 


276  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

their  elbows  on  the  table,  and  those  with  their  paws 
under  it,  and  the  insolent  who  give  and  the  idiots  who 
accept,  and  fling  it  all  back  in  the  face  of  Providence '. 
In  the  mean  time  let  us  vent  our  wrath  on  Josiana. 

Thus  mused  Barkilphedro ;  such  were  the  ravings  of 
his  soul.  It  is  the  habit  of  the  envious  man  to  absolve 
himself  of  public  wrongs  with  his  own  personal  griev- 
ances. All  the  wilder  forms  of  hateful  passions  racked 
the  mind  of  this  ferocious  being.  In  the  corners  of  old 
maps  of  the  world  published  in  the  fifteenth  century  are 
big  vacant  spaces,  without  shape  or  name,  on  which  are 
written  these  three  words  :  "  Hie  sunt  leones. "  There  is 
a  similar  corner  in  the  human  soul.  Passions  rage  and 
growl  somewhere  within  us,  and  we  truly  may  say  of 
the  dark  side  of  our  souls  that  "  there  are  lions  here. " 

Is  this  chain  of  reasoning  absolutely  absurd  ?  Does  it 
lack  a  certain  amount  of  justice  ?  "We  must  confess  it 
does  not.  It  is  fearful  to  think  that  the  judgment  within 
us  is  not  justice.  Judgment  is  relative;  justice  is  abso- 
lute. Think  of  the  difference  between  a  judge  and  a 
just  man.  Wicked  men  lead  conscience  astray  with 
authority.  There  are  gymnastics  of  untruth.  A  soph- 
ist is  a  forger,  and  this  forger  sometimes  brutalizes  good 
sense.  A  certain  very  supple,  very  implacable,  and  very 
agile  logic  is  at  the  service  of  evil,  and  excels  in  stab- 
bing truth  in  the  dark.  These  are  blows  aimed  by  the 
devil  at  Providence. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  Barkilphedro  had  a  presenti- 
ment of  failure.  He  was  undertaking  a  difficult  task, 
and  he  was  afraid  that,  after  all,  the  evil  achieved 
might  not  be  proportionate  to  the  work.  To  be  as  full 
of  corrosion  as  he  was ;  to  possess  a  will  of  steel ;  to  be 
imbued  with  such  an  intense  hatred  and  wild  longing 
for  the  catastrophe,  —  and  yet  to  burn  nothing,  to  de- 
capitate nothing,  to  exterminate  nothing !     To  possess 


THE  FLAME  SEEN  IF  MAN  WERE  TRANSPARENT.      277 

such  powers  of  devastation,  such  voracious  animosity ; 
to  have  been  created  (for  there  is  a  creator,  whether  God 
or  devil),  Barkilphedro, — and  to  inflict  perhaps  after 
all  only  a  tap  of  the  finger !  Could  this  be  possible  ? 
Could  it  be  that  Barkilphedro  would  miss  his  aim  ?  To 
be  a  lever  powerful  enough  to  heave  great  masses  of 
rock,  and  when  sprung  to  the  utmost  power,  to  succeed 
only  in  giving  an  affected  woman  a  bump  in  the  forehead ; 
to  accomplish  the  task  of  Sisyphus,  and  crush  only  an 
ant ;  to  sweat  all  over  with  hate,  and  for  nothing,  — ■ 
would  not  this  be  humiliating,  when  he  felt  himself  a 
murderous  engine  capable  of  reducing  the  world  to 
powder !  To  put  into  movement  all  the  wheels  within 
wheels,  to  work  in  the  darkness  all  the  mechanism  of 
a  Marly  machine,  and  perhaps  only  succeed  in  pinch- 
ing the  tip  of  a  little  rosy  finger !  He  must  turn  huge 
blocks  of  marble  over  and  over,  perchance  with  no  other 
result  than  ruffling  the  smooth  surface  of  the  court  a 
little  !  Providence  has  a  way  of  expending  its  forces 
grandly.  The  movement  of  a  mountain  often  only 
displaces  a  mole-hill ! 

Besides,  when  the  court  is  the  arena,  nothing  is  more 
dangerous  than  to  aim  at  your  enemy  and  miss  him. 
In  the  first  place,  it  unmasks  you  and  irritates  him ;  but 
besides  and  above  all,  it  displeases  the  master.  Kings 
do  not  like  the  unskilful.  Let  us  have  no  contusions, 
no  ugly  gashes ;  kill  anybody,  but  give  no  one  a  bloody 
nose.  He  who  kills  is  clever ;  he  who  wounds  is  awk- 
ward. Kings  do  not  like  to  see  their  servants  lamed ; 
they  are  displeased  if  you  chip  a  porcelain  jar  on  their 
chimney-piece,  or  a  courtier  in  their  cortege.  The 
court  must  be  kept  neat ;  break  and  replace,  — that  does 
not  matter.  Besides,  all  this  agrees  perfectly  with  the 
taste  of  princes  for  scandal.  Speak  evil,  do  none;  or 
if  you  do,  let  it  be  in  grand  style.     Stab,  do  not  scratch, 


278  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

unless  the  pin  be  poisoned.  This  would  be  an  extenu- 
ating circumstance,  and  was,  we  may  remember,  the 
case  with  Barkilphedro. 

Every  malicious  pygmy  is  a  phial  in  which  is  enclosed 
Solomon's  dragon.  The  phial  is  microscopic  in  size; 
the  dragon  is  immense,  — a  formidable  condensation, 
awaiting  the  gigantic  hour  of  dilation ;  ennui  consoled 
by  the  premeditation  of  explosion !  The  prisoner  is 
larger  than  the  prison.  A  latent  giant,  —  how  wonder- 
ful !  a  minnow  which  contains  a  hydra !  To  be  this 
fearful  magical  box,  to  contain  within  himself  a  Levi- 
athan, is  to  the  dwarf  both  a  torture  and  a  delight. 

Nor  would  anything  have  caused  Barkilphedro  to  let 
go  his  hold.  He  was  biding  his  time.  Would  it  ever 
come  ?  Who  knows  ?  He  was  certainly  watching  for 
it.  Self-love  is  mixed  up  in  the  malice  of  the  very 
wicked  man.  To  make  holes  and  gaps  in  a  fortune 
higher  than  your  own ;  to  undermine  it  at  all  risks  and 
perils,  carefully  concealed,  yourself,  the  while,  —  is, 
we  repeat,  extremely  exciting.  The  player  at  such  a 
game  becomes  eager,  even  to  passion ;  he  throws  him- 
self into  the  work  as  if  he  were  composing  an  epic.  To 
be  very  mean  and  to  attack  that  which  is  great,  is  in 
itself  a  brilliant  action.  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  flea 
on  a  lion.  The  noble  beast  feels  the  bite,  and  tries  to 
vent  his  rage  upon  the  atom  ;  an  encounter  with  a  tiger 
would  weary  him  less.  See  how  the  actors  exchange 
their  parts :  the  lion,  humiliated,  feels  the  sting  of  the 
insect,  and  the  flea  can  say,  "  I  have  in  my  veins  the 
blood  of  a  lion ! " 

These  reflections,  however,  only  half  appeased  the 
cravings  of  Barkilphedro 's  pride;  they  were  poor  conso- 
lation. To  annoy  is  one  thing ;  to  torment  would  be 
infinitely  better.  One  thought  haunted  Barkilphedro 
incessantly  :  he  might  not  succeed  in  doing  more  than 


THE  FLAME  SEEN  IE  MAN  WERE  TRANSPARENT.     279 

slightly  irritate  Josiana's  epidermis.  What  more  could 
he  hope  for,  —  he  being  so  obscure,  and  she  so  far  above 
him  !  A  mere  scratch  is  but  little  satisfaction  to  him 
who  longs  to  see  the  crimson  blood  of  his  flayed  victim, 
and  to  hear  her  cries  as  she  lies  before  him  worse  than 
naked,  without  even  the  natural  covering  of  her  skin  ! 
With  such  a  craving,  how  sad  to  be  powerless !  Alas, 
there  is  nothing  perfect !  However,  he  resigned  him- 
self. Not  being  able  to  do  better,  he  only  dreamed  half 
his  dream.  To  play  a  treacherous  trick  is  something 
after  all. 

What  a  man  is  he  who  revenges  himself  for  a  benefit 
received  !  Barkilphedro  was  a  giant  among  such  men. 
Usually,  ingratitude  is  forgetf ulness ;  with  this  man, 
steeped  in  wickedness,  it  was  fury.  The  ordinary  in- 
grate  is  full  of  ashes :  what  was  in  Barkilphedro  ?  A 
furnace ,  —  a  furnace  walled  around  with  hate,  silence, 
and  rancour,  awaiting  Josiana  for  fuel !  Never  had  a 
man  abhorred  a  woman  to  such  an  extent  without 
cause.  How  terrible !  He  thought  of  her  all  day  and 
dreamed  of  her  all  night.  Perhaps  he  was  a  little  in 
love  with  her. 


CHAPTER   XL 

BARKILPHEDKO   IN   AMBUSCADE. 

TO  find  the  vulnerable  spot  in  Josiana,  and  to  strike 
her  there,  was,  for  the  causes  we  have  just  men- 
tioned, the  imperturbable  determination  of  Barkilphedro. 
The  wish,  however,  was  not  enough ;  the  power  to  ac- 
complish it  was  also  necessary.  How  was  he  to  set 
about  it  ?     That  was  the  question. 

Vulgar  vagabonds  set  with  care  the  scene  of  any 
wickedness  they  intend  to  commit.  They  do  not  feel 
themselves  strong  enough  to  seize  the  opportunity  as  it 
passes,  to  take  possession  of  it  by  fair  means  or  foul, 
and  to  constrain  it  to  serve  them.  Cunning  scoundrels 
disdain  preliminary  combinations ;  they  start  out  to  per- 
form their  villainies  alone,  after  arming  themselves 
thoroughly,  prepared  to  avail  themselves  of  any  chances 
which  may  occur,  and  then,  like  Barkilphedro,  await  the 
opportunity.  They  know  that  a  ready-made  scheme 
runs  the  risk  of  fitting  ill  into  the  events  which  may 
present  themselves.  It  is  not  thus  that  a  man  makes 
himself  master  of  possibilities,  and  guides  them  as  one 
pleases.  You  can  make  no  arrangements  with  destiny ; 
to-morrow  will  not  obey  you.  There  is  a  great  want  of 
discipline  about  chance ;  therefore  they  watch  for  it,  and 
summon  it  suddenly,  authoritatively,  on  the  spot,  —  no 
plan,  no  sketch,  no  rough  model,  no  ready-made  shoe 
ill-fitting  the  unexpected;  they  plunge  headlong  into 
the  dark.     To  turn  to  immediate  and  rapid  profit  any 


BARKILPHEDRO   IN  AMBUSCADE.  281 

circumstance  that  can  aid  him  is  the  quality  which 
distinguishes  the  able  scoundrel,  and  elevates  the  villain 
into  the  demon.  To  make  yourself  master  of  circum- 
stances, that  is  true  genius.  The  real  scoundrel  strikes 
you  with  the  first  stone  he  can  pick  up.  Clever  male- 
factors count  on  the  unexpected,  that  strange  accom- 
plice in  so  many  crimes ;  they  grasp  the  incident  and 
leap  on  it :  there  is  no  better  Ars  poetica  for  this  species 
of  talent.  Meanwhile  be  sure  with  whom  you  have 
to  deal ;  survey  the  ground  carefully. 

With  Barkilphedro  the  ground  was  Queen  Anne. 
Barkilphedro  approached  the  queen,  and  so  close  that 
sometimes  he  fancied  he  heard  the  monologues  of  her 
Majesty.  Sometimes  he  was  present  at  conversations 
between  the  sisters ;  neither  did  they  forbid  his  slipping 
in  a  word  now  and  then.  He  profited  by  this  to  dis- 
parage himself,  —  a  way  of  inspiring  confidence.  One 
day  in  the  garden  at  Hampton  Court,  being  behind  the 
duchess,  who  was  behind  the  queen,  he  heard  Anne 
enunciate  this  sentiment :  — 

"  Brute  beasts  are  fortunate ;  they  run  no  risk  of  going 
to  hell. " 

"  They  are  there  already, "  replied  Josiana. 

This  answer,  which  bluntly  substituted  philosophy 
for  religion,  displeased  the  queen.  If,  perchance,  there 
was  any  meaning  in  the  observation,  Anne  felt  that  she 
ought  to  appear  shocked. 

"  My  dear, "  said  she  to  Josiana,  "  we  talk  of  hell  like 
a  couple  of  fools.  We  had  better  ask  Barkilphedro 
about  it.     He  ought  to  know  all  about  such  things.  " 

"Asa  devil  ?  "  said  Josiana. 

"Asa  beast, "  replied  Barkilphedro,  with  a  bow. 

"  Madam, "  said  the  queen  to  Josiana,  "  he  is  cleverer 
than  we.  " 

For  a  man  like  Barkilphedro  to  approach  the  queen 


282  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

was  to  obtain  a  hold  on  her.  He  could  say,  "  I  hold 
her.  "  Now,  he  wanted  a  means  of  taking  advantage  of 
his  power  for  his  own  benefit.  He  had  a  foothold  in 
the  court.  To  be  settled  there  was  a  fine  thing;  no 
chance  could  now  escape  him.  More  than  once  he  had 
made  the  queen  smile  maliciously.  This  was  equiva- 
lent to  having  a  license  to  shoot.  But  was  there  any 
preserved  game  ?  Did  this  license  to  shoot  permit  him 
to  break  the  wing  or  the  leg  of  one  like  the  sister  of  her 
Majesty?  The  first  point  to  make  clear  was,  did  the 
queen  love  her  sister  ?  One  false  step  would  lose  alL 
Barkilphedro  watched. 

Before  he  plays,  the  player  examines  his  cards. 
What  trumps  has  he  ?  Barkilphedro  began  by  compar- 
ing the  ages  of  the  two  women, —  Josiana,  twenty-three; 
Anne,  forty-one.  So  far  so  good ;  he  held  trumps.  The 
moment  that  a  woman  ceases  to  count  her  age  by  springs, 
and  begins  to  count  by  winters,  she  becomes  cross.  A 
dull  rancour  possesses  her  against  the  age  of  which  she 
carries  the  marks.  Fresh-blown  beauties,  perfumes  for 
others,  are  to  such  a  one  but  thorns.  Of  the  roses  she 
feels  but  the  prick.  It  seems  as  if  all  the  freshness  is 
stolen  from  her,  and  that  beauty  decreases  in  her  be- 
cause it  increases  in  others. 

To  profit  by  this  secret  ill-humour,  to  deepen  the 
furrows  on  the  face  of  this  woman  of  forty,  who  was 
a  queen,  seemed  a  good  game  for  Barkilphedro.  Envy 
excels  in  exciting  jealousy,  as  a  rat  lures  the  crocodile 
from  its  hole.  Barkilphedro  fixed  his  wise  gaze  on 
Anne.  He  saw  into  the  queen,  as  one  sees  into  a  stag- 
nant pool.  The  marsh  has  its  transparency.  In  dirty 
water  we  see  vices ;  in  muddy  water  we  see  stupidity. 
Anne's  mind  was  like  muddy  water.  Embryos  of  senti- 
ments and  larvae  of  ideas  moved  sluggishly  about  in  her 
thick  brain.     They  were  not  distinct :  they  had  scarcely 


BARKILPHEDRO  IN  AMBUSCADE.  283 

any  outline,  —  but  they  were  realities,  though  shapeless. 
The  queen  thought  this ;  the  queen  desired  that,  —  to 
decide  what,  was  the  difficulty.  The  confused  transfor- 
mations which  go  on  in  stagnant  water  are  difficult  to 
study.  The  queen  though  habitually  reserved,  some- 
times made  sudden  and  stupid  revelations.  It  was  on 
these  that  it  was  necessary  to  seize ;  he  must  take  ad- 
vantage of  them  on  the  moment.  How  did  the  queen 
feel  towards  the  Duchess  Josiana  ?  Did  she  wish  her 
good  or  evil  ?  This  was  the  problem.  Barkilphedro  set 
himself  to  solve  it.  This  problem  solved,  he  might 
venture  further. 

Divers  chances  served  Barkilphedro,  —  his  constant 
watchfulness  above  all.  Anne  was,  on  her  husband's 
side,  slightly  related  to  the  new  Queen  of  Prussia,  wife 
of  the  king  with  the  hundred  chamberlains.  She  had 
her  portrait  painted  on  enamel,  after  the  process  of 
Turquet,  of  Mayerne.  This  Queen  of  Prussia  had  also 
a  younger  illegitimate  sister,  the  Baroness  Drika.  One 
day,  in  the  presence  of  Barkilphedro,  Anne  asked  the 
Prussian  ambassador  some  question  about  this  Drika. 

"  They  say  she  is  rich, "  the  queen  remarked. 

"  Very  rich. " 

"  She  has  palaces  ? " 

"  More  magnificent  than  those  of  her  sister,  the 
queen. " 

"  Whom  will  she  marry  ?  " 

"  A  great  lord,  the  Count  Gormo.  " 

"  Is  she  pretty  ?  " 

"  Charming. " 

"  Is  she  young  ?  " 

"  Very  young. " 

"  As  beautiful  as  the  queen  ? " 

The  ambassador  lowered  his  voice,  and  replied, 
"  Much  more  beautiful  " 


284  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

"  How  outrageous !  "  murmured  Barkilphedro. 

The  queen  was  silent,  then  she  muttered  angrily, 
"  These  bastards ! " 

Barkilphedro  noticed  the  plural. 

Another  time,  when  the  queen  was  leaving  the  chapel, 
Barkilphedro  kept  close  to  her  Majesty,  behind  the  two 
grooms  of  the  almonry.  Lord  David  Dirry-Moir,  as  he 
passed  down  between  the  two  lines  of  ladies  created 
quite  a  sensation  by  his  lordly  appearance.  As  he  passed 
there  was  a  chorus  of  feminine  exclamations,  — 

"  How  elegant !  How  gallant !  What  a  noble  air ! 
How  handsome !  " 

"  How  disagreeable !  "  grumbled  the  queen. 

Barkilphedro  overheard  this ;  it  satisfied  him.  He 
could  hurt  the  duchess  without  displeasing  the  queen. 

The  first  problem  was  solved ;  but  now  the  second 
presented  itself.  What  could  he  do  to  harm  the 
duchess  ?  What  means  did  his  wretched  appointment 
offer  to  attain  so  difficult  an  object  ?    Evidently  none. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

SCOTLAND,    IRELAND,    AND   ENGLAND. 

LET  us  note  a  circumstance.  Josiana  had  le  tour. 
This  is  easily  understood  when  we  reflect  that  she 
was,  although  illegitimate,  the  queen's  sister, — that  is 
to  say,  a  princely  personage. 

To  have  le  tour,  —  what  does  it  mean  ?  Viscount  St. 
John,  otherwise  Bolingbroke,  wrote  as  follows  to  Thomas 
Lennard,  Earl  of  Sussex :  "  Two  things  mark  the  great: 
in  England,  they  have  le  tour;  in  France,  le  pour." 
When  the  king  of  France  travelled,  the  courier  of  the 
court  stopped  at  the  halting-place  in  the  evening,  and 
assigned  lodgings  to  his  Majesty's  suite.  Among  the 
gentlemen  some  had  an  immense  privilege.  "  They 
have  le  pour, "  says  the  "  Journal  Historique  "  for  the 
year  1694,  page  6 ;  "  which  means  that  the  quarter- 
master who  marks  the  billets  puts  pour  before  their 
names,  as  '  Pour  M.  le  Prince  de  Soubise ; '  instead  of 
which,  when  he  marks  the  lodging  of  one  who  is  not 
royal,  he  does  not  put,  pour,  but  simply  the  name,  as 
'  Le  Due  de  Gesvres, '  '  Le  Due  de  Mazarin. '  "  This 
pour  on  a  door  indicated  a  prince  or  a  favourite.  A 
favourite  is  worse  than  a  prince.  The  king  granted  le 
pour,  like  a  blue  ribbon  or  a  peerage. 

Avoir  le  tour  in  England  was  less  glorious,  but  more 
tangible.  It  was  a  sign  of  intimacy  with  the  reigning 
sovereign.  Any  persons  who,  either  by  reason  of  birth, 
or  royal  favour  were  likely  to  receive  direct  communica- 


286  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

tions  from  majesty,  had  in  the  wall  of  their  bedchamber 
a  shaft,  in  which  a  bell  was  adjusted.  The  bell  sounded, 
the  shaft  opened,  a  royal  missive  appeared  on  a  gold 
plate  or  on  a  velvet  cushion,  and  the  shaft  closed.  This 
was  at  once  secret  and  solemn,  mysterious  as  well  as  fa- 
miliar. The  shaft  was  used  for  no  other  purpose ;  the 
sound  of  the  bell  announced  a  royal  message.  No  one 
could  see  who  brought  it ;  it  was  of  course  merely  a  page 
of  the  king  or  queen.  Leicester  avait  le  tour  under 
Elizabeth  ;  Buckingham  under  James  I.  Josiana  had  it 
under  Anne,  though  not  much  in  favour.  Never  was  a 
privilege  more  envied.  This  privilege  entailed  addi- 
tional servility ;  the  recipient  was  more  of  a  servant. 
At  court  that  which  elevates,  degrades.  Avoir  le  tour 
was  said  in  French,  —  this  circumstance  of  English  eti- 
quette having,  probably,  been  borrowed  from  some  old 
French  play. 

Lady  Josiana,  a  virgin  peeress  as  Elizabeth  had  been 
a  virgin  queen,  led  (sometimes  in  the  city,  and  some- 
times in  the  country,  according  to  the  season)  an  almost 
princely  life,  and  kept  nearly  a  court,  at  which  Lord 
David  was  courtier,  with  many  others.  Not  being 
married,  Lord  David  and  Lady  Josiana  could  show  them- 
selves together  in  public  without  exciting  ridicule ;  and 
they  did  so  frequently.  They  often  went  to  plays  and 
race-courses  in  the  same  carriage,  and  sat  together  in 
the  same  box.  They  were  chilled  by  the  impending 
marriage,  which  was  not  only  permitted  to  them,  but 
imposed  upon  them ;  but  they  felt  an  attraction  for  each 
other's  society.  The  privacy  permitted  to  the  engaged 
has  a  frontier  easily  passed.  From  this  they  abstained : 
that  which  is  easy  is  in  bad  taste. 

The  best  pugilistic  encounters  then  took  place  at 
Lambeth,  a  parish  in  which  the  Lord  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  has  a  palace  (though  the  air  there  is  un- 


SCOTLAND,  IRELAND,  AND   ENGLAND.  287 

healthy)  and  a  rich  library  open  at  certain  hours  to 
decent  people.  One  evening  in  winter  there  was  in  a 
meadow  there,  the  gates  of  which  were  locked,  a  fight, 
which  Josiana,  escorted  by  Lord  David,  attended. 

"  Are  women  admitted  ? "  she  had  asked. 

"  Sunt  faeminse  magnates ! "  David  had  responded. 

The  free  translation  of  this  is,  "  Plebeian  women  are 
not.  "  The  literal  translation  is,  "  Great  ladies  are. "  A 
duchess  goes  everywhere.  This  is  why  Lady  Josiana 
saw  a  boxing -match. 

Lady  Josiana  made  only  this  concession  to  propriety, 
—  she  dressed  like  a  man,  a  very  common  custom  at 
that  period  ;  women  seldom  travelled  otherwise.  Out  of 
every  six  persons  who  travelled  by  the  coach  from 
Windsor  one  or  two  were  women  in  male  attire,  —  a 
certain  sign  of  high  birth.  Lady  Josiana  betrayed  her 
quality  in  one  way,  — she  had  an  opera -glass,  then  used 
by  gentlemen   only. 

Lord  David,  being  in  company  with  a  woman,  could 
not  take  any  part  in  the  match  himself,  and  merely 
assisted  as  one  of  the  audience.  This  encounter  in  the 
noble  science  of  boxing  was  presided  over  by  Lord 
Germaine,  great-grandfather,  or  grand-uncle,  of  that 
Lord  Germaine  who  towards  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century  was  colonel,  ran  away  in  a  battle  from  the  regi- 
ment which  he  commanded,  but  who  was  afterwards 
made  minister  of  war,  and  only  escaped  from  the  shells 
of  the  enemy  to  fall  by  a  worse  fate,  —  shot  through  and 
through  by  Sheridan's  sarcasms.  Many  gentlemen  were 
betting, — Harry  Bellew  of  Carleton,  who  had  claims 
to  the  extinct  peerage  of  Bella-aqua,  with  Henry,  Lord 
Hyde,  member  of  Parliament  for  the  borough  of  Dun- 
hivid,  which  is  also  called  Launceston  ;  the  Honourable 
Peregrine  Bertie,  member  for  the  borough  of  Truro,  with 
Sir  Thomas  Colpepper,  member  for  Maidstone ;  the  Laird 


288  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

of  Lamyrbau,  which  is  on  the  borders  of  Lothian,  with 
Samuel  Trefusis,  of  the  borough  of  Penryn ;  Sir  Bar- 
tholomew Gracedieu,  of  the  borough  of  Saint  Ives,  with 
the  Honourable  Charles  Bodville,  who  was  called  Lord 
Eobartes,  and  who  was  Custos  Eotulorum  of  the  county 
of  Cornwall ;  besides  many  others. 

Of  the  two  combatants,  one  was  an  Irishman,  named 
after  his  native  mountain  in  Tipperary,  Phelem-ghe- 
Madone ;  and  the  other  a  Scot,  named  Helmsgail.  They 
represented  the  national  honour  of  each  country.  Ire- 
land and  Scotland  were  about  to  encounter  each  other; 
Erin  was  going  to  fisticuff  Gajothel.  So  that  the  bets 
amounted  to  over  forty  thousand  guineas,  besides  the 
stakes.  The  two  champions  were  naked,  excepting 
short  breeches  buckled  over  the  hips,  and  spiked  boots 
laced  as  high  as  the  ankles. 

Helmsgail,  the  Scot,  was  a  youth  scarcely  nineteen, 
but  he  had  already  had  his  forehead  sewn  up,  for  which 
reason  they  laid  two  and  one  third  to  one  on  him.  The 
month  before  he  had  broken  the  ribs  and  gouged  out  the 
eyes  of  a  pugilist,  named  Sixmileswater ;  this  explained 
the  enthusiasm  he  created,  —  he  had  won  his  backers 
twelve  thousand  pounds.  Besides  having  his  forehead 
sewn  up,  Helmsgail's  jaw  had  been  broken.  He  was 
neatly  made  and  active.  He  was  about  the  height  of  a 
small  woman,  erect,  thick  set,  and  of  a  stature  low  and 
threatening.  None  of  the  advantages  given  him  by 
nature  had  been  lost;  not  a  muscle  which  was  not 
trained  to  its  object,  pugilism.  His  firm  chest  was  com- 
pact, and  brown  and  shining  like  brass.  He  smiled, 
and  the  loss  of  three  teeth  added  to  the  effect  of  his 
smile. 

Phelem-ghe-Madone,  the  Irishman,  was  tall  and  over- 
grown,—  that  is  to  say,  weak.  He  was  a  man  about 
forty  years  of  age,  six  feet  high,  with  the  chest  of  a 


SCOTLAND,  IRELAND,  AND  ENGLAND.  289 

hippopotamus,  and  a  mild  expression  of  face.  A  blow 
from  his  fist  would  shatter  the  deck  of  a  vessel ;  but  he 
did  not  know  how  to  use  his  strength.  He  was  all  sur- 
face, and  seemed  to  have  entered  the  ring  to  receive, 
rather  than  to  give,  blows.  Only  it  was  felt  that  he 
could  bear  a  deal  of  punishment,  —  like  underdone  beef, 
tough  to  chew,  and  impossible  to  swallow.  He  was 
what  was  termed,  in  local  slang,  "  raw  meat. "  He 
squinted.     He  seemed  resigned. 

The  two  men  had  passed  the  preceding  night  in  the 
same  bed,  and  had  slept  together.  They  had  each  drunk 
port  wine  from  the  same  glass,  to  the  three-inch  mark. 
Each  had  his  party  of  seconds,  —  men  of  savage  expres- 
sion, threatening  the  umpires  when  it  suited  their  side. 
Among  Helmsgail's  supporters  was  to  be  seen  John 
ol-romane,  celebrated  for  having  carried  an  ox  on  his 
back ;  and  also  one  called  John  Bray,  who  had  once 
carried  on  his  back  ten  bushels  of  flour,  at  fifteen  pecks 
to  the  bushel,  besides  the  miller  himself,  and  had 
walked  over  two  hundred  yards  under  the  weight.  On 
the  side  of  Phelem-ghe-Madone,  Lord  Hyde  had 
brought  from  Launceston  a  certain  Kilter,  who  lived  at 
Green  Castle,  and  could  throw  a  stone  weighing  twenty 
pounds  to  a  greater  height  than  the  highest  tower  of  the 
castle.  These  three  men,  Kilter,  Bray,  and  Gromane, 
were  Cornishmen  by  birth,  and  did  honour  to  their 
county.  The  other  seconds  were  brutal  fellows,  with 
broad  backs,  bowed  legs,  knotted  fists,  dull  faces; 
ragged,  fearing  nothing,  nearly  all  jail-birds.  Many  of 
them  understood  admirably  how  to  get  the  police  drunk ; 
each  profession  requires  its  special  talents. 

The  field  chosen  was  farther  off  than  the  bear-garden, 
where  they  formerly  baited  bears,  bulls,  and  dogs;  it 
was  beyond  the  line  of  the  farthest  houses,  by  the  side 
of  the  ruins  of  the  Priory  of  Saint  Mary  Overy,  dis- 

TOL.   XIX.  —  19 


290  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

mantled  by  Henry  VIII.  The  wind  was  northerly,  and 
biting  ;  a  slight  rain  fell,  which  was  instantly  frozen  into 
ice.  Some  gentlemen  present  were  evidently  fathers  of 
families,  recognized  as  such  by  their  putting  up  their 
umbrellas. 

On  the  side  of  Phelem-ghe-Madone  was  Colonel  Mon- 
creif  as  umpire ;  and  Kilter,  as  second,  to  support  him 
on  his  knee.  On  the  side  of  Helmsgail,  the  Honourable 
Pughe  Beaumaris  was  umpire;  with  Lord  Desertum, 
from  Kilcarry,  as  bottle-holder,  to  support  him  on  his 
knee. 

The  two  combatants  stood  for  a  few  seconds  motion- 
less in  the  ring,  while  the  watches  were  being  compared ; 
they  then  approached  each  other  and  shook  hands. 

"  I  should  prefer  going  home, "  remarked  Phelem-ghe- 
Madone  to  Helmsgail. 

"  The  gentlemen  must  not  be  disappointed,  on  any 
account,"  Helmsgail  answered  handsomely. 

Naked  as  they  were,  they  felt  the  cold.  Phelem-ghe- 
Madone  shook.     His  teeth  chattered. 

Doctor  Eleanor  Sharpe,  nephew  of  the  Archbishop  of 
York,  cried  out  to  them :  "  Set  to,  boys !  it  will  warm 
you. " 

These  friendly  words  thawed  them.  They  set  to. 
But  neither  of  the  two  men  had  his  blood  up;  there 
were  three  ineffectual  rounds. 

The  Eev.  Doctor  Gumdraith,  one  of  the  forty  Fellows 
of  All  Souls'  College,  cried,  "  Spirit  them  up  with 
gin !  " 

But  the  two  umpires  and  the  two  seconds  adhered  to 
the  rules,  although  it  was  exceedingly  cold. 

First  blood  was  claimed.  The  combatants  were  again 
set  face  to  face.  They  looked  at  each  other,  approached, 
stretched  their  arms,  touched  each  other's  fists,  and  then 
drew  back.     All   at  once   Helmsgail,  the   little   man. 


SCOTLAND,  IRELAND,  AND  ENGLAND.  291 

sprang  forward  :  the  real  fight  had  begun.  Phelem-ghe- 
Madone  was  struck  in  the  face,  between  the  eyes.  His 
whole  face  streamed  with  blood. 

The  crowd  cried,  "  Helmsgail  has  tapped  his  claret!  " 

There  was  wild  applause.  Phelem-ghe-Madone,  turn- 
ing his  arms  like  the  sails  of  a  windmill,  struck  out 
at  random.  The  Honourable  Peregrine  Bertie  said, 
"  Blinded !  "    but  the  man  was  not  blind  yet. 

Then  Helmsgail  heard  on  all  sides  these  encouraging 
words  :  "  Bung  up  his  peepers  !  * 

On  the  whole,  the  two  champions  were  really  well 
matched ;  and  notwithstanding  the  unfavourable  weather, 
it  was  evident  that  the  fight  would  be  a  success.  The 
burly  giant,  Phelem-ghe-Madone,  had  to  bear  the  in- 
convenience of  his  advantages ;  he  moved  heavily.  His 
arms  were  massive  as  clubs ;  but  his  chest  was  a  mass. 
His  little  opponent  ran,  struck,  sprang,  gnashed  his 
teeth ;  redoubling  vigour  by  quickness,  from  knowledge 
of  the  science.  On  the  one  side  was  the  primitive  blow 
of  the  fist,  —  savage,  uncultivated,  in  a  state  of  igno- 
rance ;  on  the  other  side  was  the  civilized  blow  of  the 
fist.  Helmsgail  fought  as  much  with  his  nerves  as  with 
his  muscles,  and  with  far  more  skill  than  strength ; 
Phelem-ghe-Madone  was  a  kind  of  sluggish  mauler,  — 
somewhat  mauled  himself,  to  begin  with.  It  was  art 
against  nature ;  it  was  cultivated  ferocity  against  bar- 
barism. It  was  clear  that  the  barbarian  would  be 
beaten,  but  not  very  quickly ;  hence  the  interest.  Put 
a  little  man  against  a  big  one,  and  the  chances  are  in 
favour  of  the  little  one.  The  cat  generally  has  the  best 
of  it  with  a  dog.  Goliaths  are  always  vanquished  by 
Davids. 

A  chorus  of  encouraging  exclamations  cheered  on  the 
combatants :  — 

"  Bravo,  Helmsgail ,'  " 


292  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

"  Good !  well  done,  Highlander !  " 

"  Now,  Phelem ! " 

And  the  friends  of  Helmsgail  repeated  their  benevo- 
lent exhortation  :  "  Bung  up  his  peepers !  " 

Helmsgail  did  better.  Eapidly  bending  down  and 
back  again,  with  the  undulating  movement  of  a  serpent, 
he  struck  Phelem -ghe-Madone  in  the  sternum.  The 
Colossus  staggered. 

"  Foul  blow !  "   cried  Viscount  Barnard. 

Phelem-ghe-Madone  sank  down  on  the  knee  of  his 
second,  saying :  "  I  am  beginning  to  get  warm. " 

Lord  Desertum  consulted  the  umpires,  and  said : 
"  Five  minutes  before  time  is  called. " 

Phelem-ghe-Madone  was  becoming  weaker.  Kilter 
wiped  the  blood  from  his  face  and  the  sweat  from  his 
body  with  a  flannel,  and  placed  the  neck  of  a  bottle 
to  his  mouth.  They  had  come  to  the  eleventh  round. 
Phelem,  besides  the  scar  on  his  forehead,  had  his 
breast  disfigured  by  blows,  his  belly  swollen,  and 
the  fore  part  of  the  head  scarified.  Helmsgail  was 
untouched. 

A  kind  of  tumult  arose  among  the  gentlemen. 

"  Foul  blow !  "  repeated  Viscount  Barnard. 

"  Bets  void !  "  said  the  Laird  of  Lamyrbau. 

"  I  claim  my  stake !  "   replied  Sir  Thomas  Colpepper. 

"  Give  me  back  my  five  hundred  guineas,  and  I  will 
go.  Stop  the  fight !  "  added  the  honourable  member  for 
the  borough  of  St.  Ives,  Sir  Bartholomew  Gracedieu. 

Phelem  arose,  staggering  like  a  drunken  man,  and 
said :  "  Let  us  go  on  fighting,  on  one  condition,  — - 
that  I  also  shall  have  the  right  to  give  one  foul 
blow.  " 

They  cried,  "  Agreed !  "  from  all  parts  of  the  ring. 
Helmsgail  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Five  minutes  elapsed, 
and  they  set  to  again. 


SCOTLAND,  IRELAND,  AND  ENGLAND.  293 

The  fighting,  which  was  agony  to  Phelem,  was  play 
to  Helmsgail ;  such  are  the  triumphs  of  science.  The 
little  man  found  means  of  putting  the  big  one  into 
chancery ;  that  is  to  say,  Helmsgail  suddenly  took  under 
his  left  arm,  which  was  bent  like  a  steel  crescent,  the 
huge  head  of  Phelem -ghe-Madone,  and  held  it  there 
under  his  armpit,  the  neck  bent  and  twisted,  while  the 
Scot  used  his  right  fist  again  and  again,  like  a  hammer 
on  a  nail,  only  from  below  and  striking  upwards,  thus 
smashing  his  opponent's  face  at  his  ease.  When  Phe- 
lem, released  at  last,  lifted  his  head,  he  no  longer  pos- 
sessed a  face.  That  which  had  been  a  nose,  eyes,  and  a 
mouth  now  looked  like  a  black  sponge  soaked  in  blood. 
He  spat,  and  four  of  his  teeth  fell  to  the  ground.  Then 
he  also  fell.      Kilter  raised  him  on  his  knee. 

Helmsgail  was  hardly  touched :  he  had  some  insignifi- 
cant bruises,  and  a  scratch  on  his  collar  bone. 

No  one  was  cold  now.  They  bet  sixteen  and  a  quarter 
to  one  on  Helmsgail.     Harry  Carleton  cried  out,  — 

"  It  is  all  over  with  Phelem-ghe-Madone.  I  '11  bet 
my  peerage  of  Bella-aqua  and  my  title  of  Lord  Bellew 
against  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury's  old  wig,  on 
Helmsgail. " 

"  Give  me  your  muzzle, "  said  Kilter  to  Phelem-ghe- 
Madone.  And  stuffing  the  bloody  flannel  into  the  bottle, 
he  washed  him  all  over  with  gin.  The  mouth  reap- 
peared, and  he  opened  one  eyelid.  His  temples  seemed 
fractured. 

"  One  round  more,  my  friend, "  said  Kilter ;  and  he 
added,  "  for  the  honour  of  the  low  town. " 

The  Welshman  and  the  Irishman  understand  each 
other,  though  Phelem  gave  no  sign  of  having  any  power 
of  understanding  left.  He  arose,  supported  by  Kilter. 
It  was  the  twenty-fifth  round.  From  the  way  in  which 
this  Cyclops  (for  he  had  but  one  eye)  placed  himself  in 


294  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

position,  it  was  evident  that  this  was  the  last  round,  for 
no  one  doubted  his  defeat.  He  placed  his  guard  below 
his  chin,  with  the  awkwardness  of  a  failing  man. 

Helmsgail,  with  a  skin  hardly  sweating,  cried  out : 
"  I  '11  back  myself,  a  thousand  to  one.  "  Then  raising 
his  arm,  struck  out. 

Strange  to  say,  both  men  went  down.  A  ghastly 
chuckle  was  heard.  It  was  Phelem-ghe-Madone 's  ex- 
pression of  delight.  While  receiving  the  terrible  blow 
given  him  by  Helmsgail  on  the  skull,  he  had  given  him 
a  foul  blow  on  the  navel.  Helmsgail,  lying  on  his 
back,  rattled  in  his  throat. 

The  spectators  looked  at  him  as  he  lay  on  the  ground, 
and  said,  "  Paid  back ! "  All  clapped  their  hands,  even 
those  who  had  lost.  Phelem-ghe-Madone  had  given 
foul  blow  for  foul  blow,  and  done  what  he  had  a  right 
to  do.  They  carried  Helmsgail  off  on  a  hand-barrow. 
The  opinion  was  that  he  would  not  recover. 

Lord  Eobartes  exclaimed,  "  I  win  twelve  hundred 
guineas.  " 

Phelem-ghe-Madone  was  evidently  maimed  for  life. 

As  she  left,  Josiana  took  the  arm  of  Lord  David,  — 
an  act  which  was  tolerated  among  people  "  engaged, "  — 
saying  to  him,  — 

"  It  was  very  fine ;  but  —  " 

"  But  what  ?  " 

■  I  thought  it  would  have  driven  away  my  ennui  ;  but 
it  hasn't." 

Lord  David  stopped,  looked  at  Josiana,  shut  his 
mouth,  and  inflated  his  cheeks,  while  he  nodded  his 
head,  as  if  to  signify,  "  Indeed  ?  "     Then  he  said,  — - 

"  There  is  but  one  effectual  cure  for  ennui.  " 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Josiana. 

"  Gwynplaine, "  replied  Lord  David. 

"  And  who  is  Gwynplaine  1  "  asked  the  duchess. 


BOOK    II. 
GWYNPLAINE  AND  DEA. 


CHAPTER   I. 

WHEREIN  WE   SEE   THE   FACE   OF    HIM  OF  WHOM  WE   HAVE 
HITHERTO   SEEN   ONLY   THE   ACTS. 

NATURE  had  been  prodigal  in  her  kindness  to 
Gwynplaine.  She  had  given  him  a  mouth  open- 
ing to  his  ears,  ears  folding  over  to  his  eyes,  a  shapeless 
nose  to  support  the  spectacles  of  the  grimace-maker,  and 
a  face  that  no  one  could  look  upon  without  laughing. 

We  have  just  said  that  Nature  had  loaded  Gwynplaine 
with  her  gifts.  But  was  it  Nature  ?  Had  she  not  been 
assisted  ?  Two  slits  for  eyes,  a  hiatus  for  a  mouth,  a 
snub  protuberance  with  two  holes  for  nostrils,  a  flat- 
tened face, —  all  producing  the  effect  of  violent  laughter, 
—  certainly  Nature  never  produced  such  perfection 
single-handed.     But  is  laughter  a  synonym  of  joy  ? 

If  in  the  presence  of  this  mountebank  (for  he  was  one) 
the  first  impression  of  gaiety  wore  off,  and  the  man's 
countenance  was  examined  closely,  traces  of  art  were 
recognizable.  Such  a  face  could  never  have  been  created 
by  chance ;  it  must  have  been  the  result  of  intention. 
Such  perfection  of  detail  is  not  found  in  Nature.  Man 
can  do  nothing  to  create  beauty,  but  everything  to  pro- 
duce ugliness.     A  Hottentot  profile  cannot  be  changed 


296  THE   MAN   WHO   LAUGHS. 

into  a  Kornan  outline,  but  out  of  a  Grecian  nose  you  may 
make  a  Calmuck's ;  it  is  only  necessary  to  obliterate  the 
root  of  the  nose,  and  to  flatten  the  nostrils.  The  Latin 
of  the  Middle  Ages  had  a  reason  for  its  creation  of  the 
verb  denasare. 

Had  Gwynplaine  when  a  child  been  so  worthy  of  at- 
tention that  his  face  had  been  subjected  to  a  complete 
transformation  ?  Why  not  ?  Was  any  more  powerful 
motive  needed  than  the  profits  which  would  accrue  from 
his  future  exhibition?  According  to  all  appearance, 
industrious  manipulators  of  children  had  worked  upon 
his  face.  It  seemed  evident  that  a  mysterious  and  prob- 
ably occult  science  (which  was  to  surgery  what  alchemy 
was  to  chemistry)  had  chiselled  his  flesh,  evidently  at  a 
very  tender  age,  and  created  this  countenance  intention- 
ally. This  science,  clever  with  the  knife  and  skilled 
in  the  use  of  anaesthetics  and  ligatures,  had  enlarged 
the  mouth,  cut  away  the  lips,  laid  bare  the  gums,  dis- 
tended the  ears,  displaced  the  eyelids  and  the  cheeks, 
enlarged  the  zygomatic  muscle,  pressed  the  scars  and 
cicatrices  to  a  level,  and  turned  back  the  skin  over  the 
lesions  while  the  face  was  thus  distorted,  —  from  all 
which  resulted  that  wonderful  and  appalling  work  of 
art,  the  mask  which  Gwynplaine  wore. 

The  manipulation  of  Gwynplaine  had  succeeded  ad- 
mirably. Gwynplaine  was  a  gift  of  providence  to  dispel 
the  sadness  of  man.  Of  which  providence  ?  Is  there  a 
providence  of  demons  as  well  as  of  God  ?  We  put  the 
question  without  answering  it. 

Gwynplaine  was  a  mountebank.  He  exhibited  him- 
self on  the  platform.  No  such  effect  had  ever  before 
been  produced.  Hypochondriacs  were  cured  by  the  mere 
sight  of  him.  He  was  avoided  by  folks  in  mourning, 
because  they  were  compelled  to  laugh  when  they  saw 
him,  without  regard  to  their  decent  gravity.     One  day 


THE  FACE  OF  GWYNPLAINE.  297 

the  chief  executioner  came  to  see  him,  and  Gwynplaine 
made  him  laugh.  People  who  saw  Gwynplaine  were 
obliged  to  hold  their  sides ;  he  spoke,  and  they  rolled 
on  the  ground.  He  was  as  far  removed  from  sadness  as 
pole  is  from  pole :  spleen  at  the  one,  Gwynplaine  at  the 
other.  Consequently  on  fair-grounds  and  village-greens 
he  speedily  gained  the  enviable  appellation  of  "  that 
horrible  man.  " 

It  was  Gwynplaine 's  laugh  that  so  excited  the  mirth 
of   others ;    yet   he   did  not  laugh  himself.     His  face 
laughed ;  his  thoughts  did  not.     The  extraordinary  face 
which  chance,  or  a  special  and  weird  industry,  had  fash- 
ioned for  him  laughed  of  itself ;  Gwynplaine  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it.      The  exterior  did  not  depend  on  the 
interior.      The  laugh  which  he  himself  had  not  placed 
on  brow  and  eyelids  and  mouth,  he  was  powerless  to 
remove.     It  had  been  stamped  indelibly  on  his  face ;  it 
was   automatic,    and    the    more   irresistible    because   it 
seemed  petrified.      No  one  could  escape   the   powerful 
effect  of  this  grimace.     Two  convulsions  of  the  face  are 
infectious,  — laughing  and  yawning.      By  reason  of  the 
mysterious  operation  to  which  Gwynplaine  had  probably 
been  subjected   in  his   infancy,    every  part  of  his  face 
contributed  to  that  grin ;  his  whole  physiognomy  led  to 
that  result,    as  a  wheel  centres  in  the  hub.     All  his 
emotions  augmented  this  strange  expression ;  or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  aggravated  it.     Any  astonishment  which 
might  seize  him,  any  suffering  which  he  might  feel,  any 
anger  which  might  take   possession  of  him,   any  pity 
which  might  move  him,  only  increased  this  hilarity  of 
his  muscles.      If  he  wept  he   laughed ;    and   whatever 
Gwynplaine  was,  whatever  he  wished  to  be,   whatever 
he  thought,    the  moment  that  he  raised  his  head  the 
crowd  (if  crowd  there  was)  had  before  them  one  imper- 
sonation,—  an  overwhelming  burst  of  laughter.      It  was 


298  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

like  a  head  of  Medusa,  but  Medusa  hilarious.  Every 
serious  feeling  or  thought  in  the  mind  of  the  spectator 
was  suddenly  put  to  flight  by  the  unexpected  apparition, 
and  laughter  was  inevitable. 

Antique  art  formerly  placed  on  the  exterior  of  the 
Greek  theatre  a  joyous  brazen  face,  called  Comedy;  it 
laughed  and  occasioned  laughter,  but  remained  pensive. 
All  mirth  which  borders  on  folly,  all  irony  which  bor- 
ders on  wisdom,  were  condensed  and  amalgamated  in 
that  face.  Intense  anxiety,  disappointment,  disgust, 
and  chagrin  were  all  depicted  in  the  rigid  features ;  but 
a  ghastly  smile  wreathed  the  lips,  imparting  an  ex- 
pression of  lugubrious  mirth  to  the  entire  countenance. 
One  corner  of  the  mouth  was  curled  upward  in  mockery 
of  the  human  race ;  the  other,  in  blasphemy  of  the  gods. 
Those  who  eagerly  crowded  around  to  gaze  at  this  grim 
exemplification  of  the  covert  sarcasm  and  irony  which 
dwells  in  every  human  breast,  nearly  died  with  laughter 
at  the  sepulchral  immobility  of  the  sneering  smile. 

One  might  almost  have  said  that  Gwynplaine  was  that 
dark,  dead  mask  of  ancient  comedy,  adjusted  to  the 
body  of  a  living  man ;  that  he  supported  on  his  neck 
that  infernal  head  of  implacable  hilarity.  What  a 
weight  for  the  shoulders  of  a  man,  — an  everlasting 
laugh ! 

An  everlasting  laugh  !  That  we  may  be  understood 
we  will  explain  that  the  Manicheans  believed  that  even 
the  absolute  occasionally  gave  way ;  that  God  himself 
sometimes  abdicates  for  a  time.  But  we  do  not  admit 
that  the  will  can  ever  be  utterly  powerless.  The  whole 
of  existence  resembles  a  letter  modified  in  the  postscript 
For  Gwynplaine  the  postscript  was  this  :  by  force  of  will, 
by  concentrating  all  his  attention,  and  allowing  no  emo- 
tion to  impair  the  intentness  of  his  effort,  he  could 
manage  to  suspend  the  everlasting  rictus  of  his  face, 


THE  FACE  OF  GWYNPLAINE.  299 

and  to  throw  over  it  for  a  moment  a  kind  of  tragic  veil ; 
and  then  the  spectator  no  longer  laughed, —  he  shuddered. 
This  exertion  Gwynplaine  scarcely  ever  made ;  it  was  a 
terrible  effort,  and  an  insupportable  tension.  Moreover, 
it  happened  that  on  the  slightest  distraction  or  change 
of  emotion,  the  laugh,  driven  away  for  a  moment,  re- 
turned like  the  tide,  with  an  impulse  which  was  irre- 
sistible in  proportion  to  the  force  of  the  adverse  emotion. 
With  this  exception  Gwynplaine 's  laugh  was  everlasting. 

On  first  seeing  Gwynplaine,  everybody  laughed.  When 
they  had  laughed  they  turned  away  their  heads.  Women 
especially  shrank  from  him  with  horror.  The  man  was 
frightful.  The  paroxysm  of  laughter  was  a  sort  of  spon- 
taneous tribute  paid  to  his  deformity  ;  they  yielded  to  it 
gladly,  but  almost  mechanically.  Besides,  when  once 
the  novelty  was  over,  Gwynplaine  was  intolerable  for  a 
woman  to  see,  and  impossible  to  contemplate  long.  Yet 
he  was  tall,  well-made,  agile,  and  in  no  way  deformed 
except  in  his  face. 

This  strengthened  the  presumption  that  Gwynplaine 
was  rather  a  creation  of  art  than  a  work  of  Nature. 
Gwynplaine,  beautiful  in  figure,  had  probably  been 
equally  beautiful  in  face.  At  his  birth  he  had  doubt- 
less resembled  other  infants,  and  the  body  had  been  left 
intact,  and  the  face  alone  been  retouched.  Gwynplaine 
had  been  made  to  order,  —  at  least,  that  was  probably 
the  case.  They  had  left  him  his  teeth  :  teeth  are  neces- 
sary to  a  laugh;  the  death's  head  retains  them.  The 
operation  performed  on  him  must  have  been  frightful. 
That  he  had  no  remembrance  of  it  was  no  proof  that  it 
had  never  been  performed.  Surgical  sculpture  of  the 
kind  could  never  have  succeeded  except  on  a  very  young 
child,  and  consequently  one  who  had  little  conscious- 
ness of  what  happened  to  him,  and  who  might  easily 
take  a  wound   for  an  illness.     Besides,    we  must  re« 


300  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

member  that  they  had  in  those  times  means  of  putting 
patients  to  sleep,  and  of  suppressing  all  suffering ; 
only  then  it  was  called  magic,  while  now  it  is  called 
anaesthesia. 

Besides  this  face,  those  who  had  brought  him  up  had 
given  him  the  resources  of  a  gymnast  and  an  athlete. 
His  joints  had  been  skilfully  dislocated,  and  trained  to 
bend  the  wrong  way ;  so  that  they  could  move  backward 
and  forward  with  equal  ease,  like  the  hinges  of  a  door. 
In  preparing  him  for  the  profession  of  mountebank  noth- 
ing had  been  neglected.  His  hair  had  been  dyed  ochre 
colour  once  for  all,  —  a  secret  which  has  been  rediscov- 
ered at  the  present  day.  Pretty  women  avail  themselves 
of  it,  and  that  which  was  formerly  considered  ugly  is 
now  considered  an  embellishment.  Gwynplaine's  hair 
had  probably  been  dyed  with  some  corrosive  prepara- 
tion, for  it  was  very  woolly  and  rough  to  the  touch. 
The  yellow  bristles,  a  mane  rather  than  a  head  of  hair, 
covered  and  concealed  a  lofty  brow,  evidently  made  to 
contain  thought.  The  operation,  whatever  it  had  been, 
which  had  deprived  his  features  of  harmony,  and  put  all 
their  flesh  awry,  had  had  no  effect  on  the  contour  of  the 
head.  The  facial  angle  was  powerful  and  symmetrical. 
Behind  his  laugh  there  was  a  soul,  dreaming,  as  all  souls 
dream.  Besides,  this  laugh  was  quite  a  talent  to  Gwyn- 
plaine.  He  could  not  prevent  it,  so  he  turned  it  to  ac- 
count.    He  earned  his  living  by  it. 

Gwynplaine,  as  you  have  probably  already  guessed, 
was  the  child  abandoned  one  winter  evening  on  the 
coast  of  Portland,  and  subsequently  sheltered  by  Ursus 
at  Weymouth. 


. 


n 


Photo-Etching.  —  From  Drawing  by  G.  Rochegrosse. 

j 


11 


b^ 


p* 


CHAPTEE  IL 

DEA. 

THAT  boy  was  now  a  man.  Fifteen  years  had 
elapsed.  It  was  1705.  Gwynplaine  was  in  his 
twenty-fifth  year. 

Ursus  had  kept  the  two  children  with  him.  They 
formed  one  family  of  wanderers.  Ursus  and  Homo  had 
aged.  Ursus  had  become  quite  bald ;  the  wolf  was 
growing  grey.  The  age  of  wolves  is  not  known  like 
that  of  dogs.  According  to  Moliere,  there  are  wolves 
which  live  to  eighty,  —  among  others  the  little  koupara, 
and  the  rank  wolf,  the  Canis  nuhilus  of  Say. 

The  little  girl  found  on  the  dead  woman  was  now  a 
tall  creature  of  sixteen,  with  brown  hair,  slight,  and  ex- 
ceedingly fragile  in  appearance,  but  wonderfully  beauti- 
ful, with  eyes  full  of  brilliancy,  though  sightless.  That 
fatal  winter  night  which  threw  down  the  beggar  woman 
and  her  infant  in  the  snow  had  struck  a  double  blow, — 
it  had  killed  the  mother,  and  blinded  the  child.  Amau- 
rosis had  dimmed  forever  the  eyes  of  the  girl,  now  be- 
come a  woman  in  her  turn.  On  her  face,  through  which 
the  light  of  day  never  passed,  the  depressed  corners  of 
the  mouth  indicated  the  bitterness  of  the  privation. 
Her  eyes,  large  and  clear,  had  this  strange  character- 
istic :  extinguished  forever  to  her,  to  others  they  were 
brilliant.  They  were  mysterious  torches  lighting  only 
the  outside ;  they  gave  light,  but  possessed  it  not. 
These  sightless  eyes  were  resplendent.     This  prisoner  of 


302  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

darkness  illumined  the  dull  place  she  inhabited.  From 
the  depths  of  her  incurable  darkness,  from  behind  the 
black  wall  called  blindness,  she  flung  her  rays.  She 
saw  not  the  sun  without,  but  her  soul  was  perceptible 
from  within.  In  her  gaze  there  was  a  celestial  earnest- 
ness. She  was  the  spirit  of  night,  and  from  the  irreme- 
diable darkness  with  which  she  was  enshrouded  she 
shone  a  star. 

Ursus,  with  his  mania  for  Latin  names,  had  chris- 
tened her  Dea.  He  had  taken  his  wolf  into  consulta- 
tion. He  had  said  to  him,  "  You  represent  man ;  I 
represent  the  beasts.  We  are  of  the  lower  world ;  this 
little  one  shall  represent  the  world  above.  Such  feeble- 
ness is  all-powerful.  So  shall  the  three  orders  of  the 
universe  be  represented  in  our  humble  abode,  —  the 
human,  the  animal,  and  the  divine. "  The  wolf  made 
no  objection.     Therefore  the  foundling  was  called  Dea. 

As  to  Gwynplaine,  Ursus  had  not  had  the  trouble  of 
inventing  a  name  for  him.  The  morning  of  the  day  on 
which  he  had  realized  the  disfigurement  of  the  little  boy 
and  the  blindness  of  the  infant,  he  said  to  him:  — 

"  Boy,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  They  call  me  Gwynplaine, "  answered  the  boy. 

"  Be  Gwynplaine,  then, "  said  Ursus. 

If  there  be  such  a  thing  as  summing  up  human  mis- 
ery, it  seemed  to  have  been  summed  up  in  Gwynplaine 
and  Dea.    Each  seemed  to  have  been  born  in  a  sepulchre, 

—  Gwynplaine  of  the  horrors  of  it,  Dea  of  the  gloom. 
There  was  something  of  the  phantom  in  Dea,  and  some- 
thing of  the  spectre  in  Gwynplaine.  For  Gwynplaine, 
who  could  see,  there  was  a  heartrending  possibility,  to 
which  Dea,  who  was  blind,  would  never  be  subjected, 

—  the  chance  of  comparing  himself  with  other  men ; 
and  to  one  in  Gwynplaine 's  situation,  to  compare  him- 
self with  other  men  was  to  understand  himself  no  longer. 


DEA.  303 

It  is  distressing,  indeed,  to  be  devoid  of  sight  like  Dea; 
but  it  is  much  more  distressing  to  be  an  enigma  to  one- 
self, to  see  the  universe,  and  not  to  be  able  to  see  oneself, 
—  as  was  the  case  with  Gwynplaine.  Dea  had  a  veil 
over  her,  —  darkness ;  Gwynplaine  wore  a  mask,  —  his 
face.  And,  strange  to  say,  it  was  with  his  own  flesh 
that  Gwynplaine  was  masked.  What  his  own  face  had 
been  like  he  knew  not :  that  face  was  gone  forever. 
They  had  affixed  a  false  self  to  him.  His  brain  lived, 
and  his  face  was  dead ;  he  did  not  even  remember  to 
have  ever  seen  it.  While  Dea's  isolation  was  terrible, 
because  she  could  see  nothing,  Gwynplaine 's  isolation 
was  even  more  terrible  because  he  could  see  everything. 
For  Dea,  creation  never  exceeded  the  limits  of  touch 
and  hearing ;  for  Gwynplaine,  life  was  to  have  mankind 
ever  before  him  and  —  beyond  him.  Dea  was  debarred 
from  light  of  the  world ;  Gwynplaine  was  debarred  from 
the  light  of  life,  —  from  all  that  makes  life  desirable. 
They  were  certainly  two  terribly  unfortunate  creatures ; 
they  seemed  to  be  beyond  the  pale  of  hope.  No  observer 
could  fail  to  feel  boundless  pity  for  them.  How  terribly 
they  must  have  suffered !  Surely,  no  such  dire  misfor- 
tunes had  ever  before  befallen  two  innocent  human 
beings,  and  conspired  to  make  their  life  a  hell  1 

And  yet  these  two  were  perfectly  happy.  They  loved 
each  other.  Gwynplaine  adored  Dea ;  Dea  idolized 
Gwynplaine.  "  How  handsome  you  are ! "  she  often 
remarked  to  him. 


CHAPTEE  IIL 

"  OCULOS   NON   HABET,    ET   VIDET.  * 

ONLY  one  woman  on  earth  saw  Gwynplaine.  That 
was  the  blind  girl.  She  had  heard  what  Gwyn- 
plaine had  done  for  her,  from  Ursus,  to  whom  the  lad 
had  described  his  rough  journey  from  Portland  to  Wey- 
mouth, and  the  many  sufferings  which  he  had  endured 
after  he  was  deserted  by  the  gang.  She  knew  that  when 
she  was  an  infant  lying  upon  her  dead  mother's  breast, 
sucking  a  corpse,  a  child  very  little  larger  than  herself 
had  found  her;  that  this  being,  exiled  and  as  it  were 
crushed  by  the  refusal  of  the  world  to  aid  him,  had 
heard  her  cry ;  that  though  all  the  world  was  deaf  to 
him,  he  had  not  been  deaf  to  her;  that  this  child,  alone, 
weak,  cast  off,  without  any  resting-place  here  below, 
dragging  himself  over  the  waste,  exhausted  by  fatigue, 
had  accepted  from  the  hands  of  night  a  heavy  burden, 
—  another  child ;  that  he,  who  had  nothing  to  expect  of 
Fate,  had  charged  himself  with  another  destiny ;  that 
naked,  in  anguish  and  distress,  he  had  made  himself  a 
Providence ;  that  when  Heaven  failed,  he  had  opened 
his  heart;  that  though  lost  himself,  he  had  saved  her; 
that  having  neither  roof-tree  nor  shelter  he  had  been  an 
asylum ;  that  he  had  made  himself  mother  and  nurse ; 
that  he  who  was  thus  alone  in  the  world  had  responded 
to  desertion  by  adoption ;  that  lost  in  the  darkness  he  had 
set  an  example ;  that  as  if  not  sufficiently  burdened  al- 
ready he  had  added  to  his  load  another's  misery ;  that 


"OCULOS  NON  HABET,  ET  VIDET."  305 

in  this  world,  which  seemed  to  contain  no  hope  for  him, 
he  had  found  a  duty ;  that  where  every  one  else  would 
have  hesitated,  he  had  advanced ;  that  where  every  one 
else  would  have  drawn  back,  he  had  consented ;  that  he 
had  put  his  hand  into  the  very  jaws  of  the  grave  and 
drawn  her,  Dea,  out ;  that  himself  half  naked,  he  had 
given  her  his  rags,  because  she  was  cold  ;  that  famished, 
he  had  thought  of  giving  her  food  and  drink ;  that  for 
one  poor  little  creature,  another  little  creature  had  com- 
bated death ;  that  he  had  fought  it  under  every  form, 

—  under  the  form  of  winter  and  snow,  under  the  form 
of  solitude,  under  the  form  of  terror,  under  the  form  of 
cold,  hunger,  and  thirst,  under  the  form  of  whirlwind ; 
and  that  for  her,  Dea,  this  Titan  of  ten  years  had 
bravely  battled  with  the  elements.  She  knew  that  as  a 
child  he  had  done  all  this,  and  that  now  as  a  man  he 
was  strength  to  her  weakness,  riches  to  her  poverty, 
healing  to  her  sickness,  and  sight  to  her  blindness.  She 
was  fully  conscious  of  his  devotion,  self-abnegation,  and 
courage.  Moral  heroism  possesses  an  even  more  potent 
charm  than  physical  heroism ;  and  in  the  abstraction  in 
which  thought  lives,  when  unlighted  by  the  sun,  Dea 
clearly  perceived  these  heroic  virtues.  In  the  environ- 
ment of  dark  objects  set  in  motion,  which  was  the  sole 
impression  the  realities  of  life  made  upon  her ;  in  the 
uneasy  quietude  of  a  creature  necessarily  passive,  yet 
ever  on  the  watch  for  possible  danger ;  in  the  sensation 
of  being  ever  defenceless,  which  is  the  life  of  the  blind, 

—  Dea  felt  Gwynplaine  ever  beside  her:  Gwynplaine, 
never  indifferent,  never  cold,  never  gloomy,  but  always 
sympathetic,  sweet-tempered,  and  helpful.  Dea  fairly 
trembled  with  happiness  and  gratitude ;  her  anxiety 
changed  into  ecstasy,  and  with  her  mind's  eye  she  gazed 
up  from  the  depths  of  her  abyss  to  the  glad  light  of  his 
goodness  in  the  zenith. 

vol.  xix.  —  20 


306  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Kindness  is  the  sunshine  of  the  spiritual  world ;  so  it 
is  little  wonder  that  Gwynplaine  quite  dazzled  poor 
Dea.  To  the  crowd,  which  has  too  many  heads  to  have 
a  thought,  and  too  many  eyes  to  have  a  clear  vision, — 
to  the  crowd  who,  superficial  themselves,  judge  only  by 
the  surface,  Gwynplaine  was  a  clown,  a  merry -andrew,  a 
mountebank,  a  grotesque  creature,  very  little  more  or 
less  than  a  beast.  The  crowd  knew  only  the  face.  For 
Dea,  Gwynplaine  was  the  saviour  who  had  gathered  her 
up  in  his  arms  in  the  tomb,  and  borne  her  out  of  it ;  the 
consoler  who  made  life  tolerable ;  the  liberator,  whose 
hand  guided  her  through  that  labyrinth  called  blind- 
ness. Gwynplaine  was  her  brother,  friend,  guide,  sup- 
port ;  the  personification  of  heavenly  power,  the  husband, 
winged  and  resplendent.  Where  the  multitude  saw  the 
monster,  Dea  recognized  the  archangel.  This  was  be 
cause  Dea,  being  blind,  could  see  the  souL 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WELL -MATCHED   LOVERS. 

URSUS,  being  a  philosopher,  understood  all  this,  and 
approved  of  Dea's  infatuation.  The  blind  see  the 
invisible.  He  said,  "  Conscience  is  vision. "  Then, 
looking  at  Gwynplaine,  he  murmured,  "  Half-monster, 
but  demi-god,  nevertheless. " 

Gwynplaine,  on  the  other  hand,  was  madly  in  love 
with  Dea.  There  is  the  invisible  eye,  —  the  spirit;  and 
the  visible  eye,  —  the  pupil.  He  saw  her  with  the  visible 
eye.  Dea  was  dazzled  by  the  ideal;  Gwynplaine,  by 
the  real.  Gwynplaine  was  not  ugly ;  he  was  frightful. 
He  saw  his  contrast  before  him :  in  proportion  as  he 
was  terrible,  Dea  was  lovely.  He  was  the  personifica- 
tion of  the  horrible ;  she  was  the  embodiment  of  grace. 
Dea  was  a  dream.  She  seemed  a  vision  scarcely  em- 
bodied. In  her  Grecian  form ;  in  her  delicate  and  supple 
figure,  swaying  like  a  reed ;  in  her  shoulders,  on  which 
might  have  been  invisible  wings ;  in  the  modest  curves 
which  indicated  her  sex,  to  the  soul  rather  than  to  the 
senses  ;  in  her  fairness,  which  amounted  almost  to  trans- 
parency ;  in  the  earnest  and  quiet  serenity  of  her  look, 
divinely  shut  out  from  earth ;  in  the  sacred  innocence 
of  her  smile,  —  she  was  almost  an  angel,  and  yet  a 
woman. 

Gwynplaine 's  existence  might  be  compared  to  the 
point  of  intersection  of  two  rays ;  one  from  below  and 
one  from  above,  —  a  black  and  a  white  ray.     The  same 


308  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

crumb  may  perhaps  be  pecked  at,  at  once,  by  the  beaks 
of  evil  and  good,  —  one  giving  a  bite,  the  other  a  kiss. 
Gwynplaine  was  this  crumb, —  an  atom,  at  once  wounded 
and  caressed.  Misfortune  had  laid  its  hand  upon  him, 
and  happiness  as  well.  He  had  on  him  an  anathema  and 
a  benediction.  He  was  one  of  the  elect,  and  one  of  the 
accursed.  Who  was  he  ?  He  knew  not.  When  he  looked 
at  himself,  he  saw  one  he  knew  not;  but  this  unknown 
was  a  monster.  Gwynplaine  lived  as  it  were  beheaded, 
with  a  face  which  did  not  belong  to  him.  This  face  was 
frightful,  so  frightful  that  it  was  absurd.  It  caused  as 
much  fear  as  laughter ;  it  was  a  hell-concocted  absurdity  ; 
it  was  the  transformation  of  a  human  face  into  the  mask 
of  an  animal.  Never  had  there  been  such  a  total  eclipse 
of  humanity  in  any  human  face,  never  a  more  complete 
caricature  ;  never  had  a  more  frightful  apparition  grinned 
in  nightmare ;  never  had  everything  that  is  repulsive  to 
woman  been  more  hideously  amalgamated  in  a  man. 
The  unfortunate  heart,  masked  and  calumniated  by  the 
face,  seemed  forever  condemned  to  solitude  under  it,  as 
under  a  tombstone.  Yet,  no !  When  unknown  malice 
had  done  its  worst,  invisible  goodness  lent  its  aid.  It 
had  caused  a  soul  to  fly  with  swift  wings  towards  the 
deserted  one ;  it  had  sent  the  dove  to  console  the  crea- 
ture whom  the  thunderbolt  had  overwhelmed,  and  had 
made  beauty  adore  deformity.  For  this  to  be  possible 
it  was  necessary  that  beauty  should  not  see  the  disfig- 
urement. To  bring  about  this  good  fortune,  a  misfortune 
was  necessary  ;  so  Providence  had  deprived  Dea  of  sight. 

Gwynplaine  vaguely  felt  himself  the  object  of  a  re- 
demption. Why  had  he  been  persecuted  ?  He  knew 
not.  Why  redeemed  ?  He  knew  not.  All  he  knew 
was  that  a  halo  had  encircled  his  brand.  When  Gwyn- 
plaine had  been  old  enough  to  understand,  Ursus  had 
read  and  explained  to  him  the  text  of  Doctor  Conquest, 


WELL-MATCHED  LOVERS.  309 

*  De  Denasatis, "  and  in  another  folio,  Hugo  Plagon,  the 
passage,  "  Nares  habens  mutilas ; "  but  Ursus  had  pru- 
dently abstained  from  "  hypotheses, "  and  had  been 
reserved  in  his  opinion  of  what  it  might  mean.  Suppo- 
sitions were  possible.  The  probability  of  violence  in- 
flicted on  Gwynplaine  when  an  infant  was  hinted  at ; 
but  for  Gwynplaine  there  was  no  proof  except  the  re- 
sult. It  seemed  to  be  his  destiny  to  live  under  a  stigma. 
Why  this  stigma  ?  There  was  no  answer.  Everything 
connected  with  Gwynplaine's  childhood  was  shrouded  in 
mystery ;  nothing  was  certain  save  the  one  terrible  fact. 

In  Gwynplaine's  dire  despondency  Dea  had  angelically 
interposed  between  him  and  despair,  and  he  perceived, 
that,  horrible  as  he  was,  a  sort  of  beautified  wonder  was 
softening  his  monstrous  visage.  Having  been  fashioned 
to  create  dread,  he  was,  by  a  miraculous  exception  to  the 
general  rule,  admired  and  adored  as  an  angel  of  light  by 
one  who  seemed  as  far  above  him  as  a  star.  Gwyn- 
plaine and  Dea  made  a  perfect  pair ;  so  these  two  suffer- 
ing hearts  very  naturally  adored  each  other.  One  nest 
and  two  birds, —  that  was  their  story.  They  had  begun 
to  obey  the  universal  law,  —  to  please,  to  seek,  and  to 
find. 

Thus  hatred  had  made  a  mistake.  The  persecutors  of 
Gwynplaine,  whoever  they  might  have  been,  had  missed 
their  aim.  They  had  intended  to  drive  him  to  despera- 
tion :  they  had  succeeded  in  driving  him  into  enchant- 
ment. They  had  affianced  him  beforehand  to  a  healing 
wound ;  they  had  predestined  him  to  be  consoled  by  an 
affliction.  The  pincers  of  the  executioner  had  softly 
changed  into  the  delicately  moulded  hand  of  a  girl. 
Gwynplaine  was  horrible,  —  made  horrible  by  the  hand 
of  man.  They  had  hoped  to  exile  him  forever,  —  first, 
from  his  family,  if  his  family  existed ;  and  then  from 
humanity.    When  an  infant,  they  had  made  him  a  ruin. 


310  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Of  this  ruin  Nature  had  repossessed  herself,  as  she  doea 
of  all  ruins.  Nature  had  consoled  this  solitary  heart, 
as  she  consoles  all  solitudes.  Nature  comes  to  the  aid 
of  the  deserted ;  when  everything  fails  them  she  gives 
them  herself.  She  flourishes  and  grows  green  amid 
ruins ;  she  has  ivy  for  the  stones,  and  boundless  sympa- 
thy for  man. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  BLUE  SKY  THROUGH  THE  BLACK  CLOUD. 

SO  these  unfortunate  creatures  lived  on  together, — Dea 
depending,  Gwynplaine  sustaining.  These  orphans 
were  all  in  all  to  each  other;  the  feeble  and  the  de- 
formed were  betrothed.  Bliss  unspeakable  had  resulted 
from  their  distress. 

They  were  grateful.  To  whom?  To  the  great  Un- 
known. Be  grateful  in  your  own  hearts,  that  suffices. 
Thanksgiving  has  wings,  and  flies  to  the  right  destina- 
tion ;  your  prayer  knows  its  way  better  than  you  can. 
How  many  men  have  believed  that  they  were  praying  to 
Jupiter,  when  they  were  really  praying  to  Jehovah ! 
How  many  believers  in  amulets  are  listened  to  by  the 
Almighty!  How  many  atheists  there  are  who  know 
not  that  in  the  simple  fact  of  being  good  and  sad  they 
pray  to  God ! 

Gwynplaine  and  Dea  were  grateful.  Deformity  is 
exile;  blindness  is  a  precipice.  The  exiled  one  had 
been  adopted :  the  precipice  was  habitable.  Gwynplaine 
had  seen  a  brilliant  light  descend  upon  him.  As  if  in  a 
dream  he  beheld  a  white  cloud  of  beauty  having  the 
form  of  a  woman,  a  radiant  vision  endowed  with  a  heart 
This  phantom,  part  cloud  and  part  woman,  clasped  him ; 
the  apparition  embraced  him,  and  the  heart  craved  him. 
Gwynplaine  was  no  longer  deformed;  he  was  beloved. 
The  rose  had  demanded  the  caterpillar  in  marriage,  feel- 


312  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

ing  that  within  the  caterpillar  there  was  a  divine  butter- 
fly.    Gwynplaine  the  rejected,  was  chosen. 

To  have  one's  desire  is  everything.  Gwynplaine  had 
his,  Dea  hers.  The  dejection  of  the  disfigured  man 
was  changed  to  profound  gratitude  and  intoxicating  de- 
light. The  wretched  found  a  refuge  in  each  other :  two 
blanks,  combining,  filled  each  other.  They  were  bound 
together  by  what  they  lacked :  in  that  in  which  one  was 
poor,  the  other  was  rich.  The  misfortune  of  the  one 
was  the  good  fortune  of  the  other.  If  Dea  had  not  been 
blind,  would  she  have  chosen  Gwynplaine  ?  If  Gwyn- 
plaine had  not  been  disfigured,  would  he  have  preferred 
Dea  ?  She  would  probably  have  rejected  the  deformed 
man,  as  he  would  have  passed  by  the  afflicted  woman. 
Hence  how  fortunate  it  was  for  Dea  that  Gwynplaine 
was  hideous ;  and  how  fortunate  for  Gwynplaine  that 
Dea  was  blind !  A  mighty  need  of  each  other  was  the 
foundation  of  their  love.  Gwynplaine  saved  Dea ;  Dea 
saved  Gwynplaine.  Apposition  of  misery  produced  ad- 
herence. It  was  the  embrace  of  those  swallowed  in  the 
abyss,  —  none  closer,  none  more  hopeless,  none  more 
exquisite. 

"  What  should  I  be  without  her  ? "  Gwynplaine 
thought. 

"  What  should  I  be  without  him  ? "  Dea  thought. 

The  exile  of  each  made  a  country  for  both.  Two 
hopeless  fatalities,  Gwynplaine 's  hideousness  and  Dea's 
blindness,  united  them.  They  sufficed  to  each  other; 
they  imagined  nothing  beyond  each  other.  To  speak  to 
each  other  was  a  delight;  to  approach  was  beatitude. 
By  force  of  reciprocal  intuition  they  became  united  in 
the  same  reverie,  and  thought  the  same  thoughts.  In 
Gwynplaine 's  tread  Dea  fancied  she  heard  the  step  of 
one  deified.  They  tightened  their  hold  upon  each  other 
in  a  sort  of  sidereal  chiaroscuro,  full  of  perfumes,  of 


THE  BLUE  SKY  THROUGH  THE  BLACK  CLOUD.       313 

light,  and  of  music,  in  the  radiant  land  of  dreams.  They 
belonged  to  each  other;  they  knew  themselves  to  be 
forever  united  in  the  same  joy  and  the  same  ecstasy, 
and  nothing  could  be  stranger  than  this  construction  of 
an  Eden  by  two  of  the  damned.  They  were  inexpres- 
sibly happy.  Out  of  their  hell  they  had  created  a 
heaven.  Such  is  thy  power,  0  Love !  Dea  heard  Gwyn- 
plaine's  laugh;  Gwynplaine  saw  Dea's  smile.  Thus 
ideal  felicity  was  created ;  the  perfect  joy  of  life  was 
realized;  the  mysterious  problem  of  happiness  was 
solved.     By  whom  ?     By  two  outcasts. 

To  Gwynplaine,  Dea  was  splendour;  to  Dea,  Gwyn- 
plaine was  presence.  Presence  is  that  profound  mystery 
which  renders  the  invisible  world  divine,  and  from 
which  results  that  other  mystery,  —  faith.  In  religions 
this  is  the  one  thing  which  is  irreducible ;  but  this  ir- 
reducible thing  suffices.  The  great  motive  power  is 
not  seen,  it  is  felt.  Gwynplaine  was  Dea's  religion. 
Sometimes,  lost  in  her  sense  of  love  towards  him,  she 
knelt,  like  a  beautiful  priestess  before  a  gnome  in  a 
pagoda,  made  happy  by  her  adoration.  Imagine  to 
yourself  an  unfathomable  abyss ;  in  the  centre  of  this 
abyss  an  oasis  of  light ;  and  on  this  oasis  two  creatures 
shut  out  of  any  other  life,  dazzling  each  other.  No 
purity  could  be  compared  to  their  loves.  Dea  did  not 
even  know  what  a  kiss  might  be,  though  perhaps  she 
desired  it;  because  blindness,  especially  in  a  woman, 
has  its  dreams,  and  though  trembling  at  the  approaches 
of  the  unknown  does  not  fear  them  all.  As  for  Gwyn- 
plaine, his  unhappy  youth  had  made  him  sensitive.  The 
more  intensely  he  loved,  the  more  timid  he  became.  He 
might  have  dared  anything  with  this  companion  of  his 
early  youth,  with  this  creature  as  ignorant  of  fault  as  of 
light,  with  this  blind  girl  who  knew  but  one  thing,  — 
that  she  adored  him.     But  he  would  have  thought  it  a 


314  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

theft  to  take  what  she  might  have  given ;  so  he  resigned 
himself  with  a  melancholy  satisfaction  to  love  angeli- 
cally, and  the  knowledge  of  his  deformity  imbued  him 
with  a  proud  purity  of  thought  and  action. 

These  happy  creatures  dwelt  in  the  ideal  world.  They 
embraced  and  caressed  each  other  only  in  spirit.  They 
had  always  lived  the  same  life ;  they  knew  themselves 
only  in  each  other's  society.  The  infancy  of  Dea  had 
coincided  with  the  youth  of  Gwynplaine;  they  had 
grown  up  side  by  side.  For  a  long  time  they  had  slept 
in  the  same  bed,  for  the  sleeping  accommodations  of  the 
van  were  limited.  They  slept  on  the  chest ;  Ursus,  on 
the  floor,  —  that  was  the  arrangement.  One  day,  while 
Dea  was  still  very  young,  Gwynplaine  felt  himself 
grown  up ;  and  it  was  now  that  a  feeling  of  shame  was 
first  aroused  in  him.  So  he  said  to  Ursus,  "  I  too  will 
sleep  on  the  floor ; "  and  at  night  he  stretched  himself 
on  the  bear-skin  beside  the  old  man.  Then  Dea  cried 
for  her  bed-fellow ;  but  Gwynplaine,  become  restless 
because  he  had  begun  to  love,  insisted  upon  remaining 
where  he  was.  From  that  time  he  always  in  cold 
weather  slept  by  Ursus  on  the  floor.  In  the  summer, 
when  the  nights  were  fine,  he  slept  outside  with 
Homo. 


CHAPTER  VL 

UESUS  AS  TUTOR,  AND  URSUS  AS  GUARDIAN. 

URSUS  said  to  himself,  "  Some  of  these  days  I  will 
play  them  a  mean  trick, —  I  will  marry  them." 

Ursus  taught  Gwynplaine  the  theory  of  love.  He 
said  to  him :  "  Do  you  know  how  the  Almighty  lights 
the  fire  called  love  ?  He  places  the  woman  underneath, 
the  devil  between,  and  the  man  at  the  top.  A  match 
—  that  is  to  say,  a  look  —  and  behold,  it  is  all  on  fire.  " 

"  A  look  is  unnecessary, "  answered  Gwynplaine, 
thinking  of  Dea. 

And  Ursus  replied,  "  Idiot !  do  souls  require  mortal 
eyes  to  see  each  other  ?  " 

Ursus  was  a  good  fellow  at  times.  Gwynplaine, 
madly  in  love  with  Dea,  sometimes  became  melancholy, 
and  made  use  of  the  presence  of  Ursus  as  a  guard  on 
himself.  One  day  Ursus  said  to  him :  "  Bah !  do  not 
put  yourself  out.  When  in  love,  the  cock  shows  him- 
self. " 

"  But  the  eagle  conceals  himself, "  replied  Gwynplaine. 

At  other  times  Ursus  would  say  to  himself  apart :  "  It 
is  well  to  put  some  spokes  in  the  wheels  of  the  Cythe- 
rean  car  occasionally.  They  love  each  other  too  much. 
This  may  have  its  disadvantages.  Let  us  avoid  too 
much  of  a  conflagration ;  let  us  moderate  these  raptures.  " 

So  Ursus  had  recourse  to  warnings  of  this  nature,  — 
speaking  to  Gwynplaine  while  Dea  slept,  and  to  Dea 
when  Gwynplaine  was  out  of  hearing:  — 


316  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

"  Dea,  you  must  not  be  so  fond  of  Gwynplaine.  To 
live  only  in  another  is  dangerous.  Selfishness  is  the 
surest  foundation  for  happiness,  after  all.  Men  play 
women  false  sometimes.  Besides,  Gwynplaine  might 
end  by  becoming  infatuated  with  you.  His  success  is 
very  great !  You  have  no  idea  how  great  his  success 
is!" 

Again :  "  Gwynplaine,  such  disparities  are  unfortu- 
nate. So  much  ugliness  on  one  side  and  so  much  beauty 
on  another,  ought  to  cause  reflection.  Temper  your 
ardour,  my  boy;  do  not  become  too  enthusiastic  about 
Dea.  Do  you  seriously  consider  that  you  are  suited  to 
her?  Just  think  of  your  deformity  and  her  perfection! 
See  the  difference  between  her  and  yourself.  She  has 
everything,  this  Dea.  What  a  white  skin  !  What  hair ! 
Lips  like  strawberries  !  and  her  foot,  her  hand  !  Those 
shoulders,  with  their  exquisite  curve !  Her  expression 
too  is  sublime.  She  seems  to  diffuse  light  around  her  as 
she  moves ;  and  when  she  speaks,  that  grave  tone  of 
voice  is  charming.  And  in  spite  of  all  this,  to  think 
that  she  is  a  woman !  She  would  not  be  such  a  fool  as 
to  be  an  angel.  She  is  a  perfect  beauty  !  Keep  all  this 
in  mind,  to  calm  your  ardour. " 

These  speeches  only  increased  the  mutual  love  of 
Gwynplaine  and  Dea ;  and  Ursus  marvelled  at  his  want 
of  success,  like  one  who  might  say,  "  It  is  singular  that 
with  all  the  oil  I  throw  on  the  fire,  I  cannot  extinguish 
it!" 

Did  Ursus,  then,  really  desire  to  extinguish  their 
love,  or  to  cool  it  even  ?  Certainly  not.  He  would 
have  been  sorely  disappointed  had  he  succeeded.  In 
his  secret  heart  this  love  delighted  him  beyond  measure. 
But  it  is  natural  to  scoff  a  little  at  that  which  charms 
us ;  men  call  it  wisdom.  Ursus  had  been,  in  his  rela- 
tions with  Gwynplaine  and  Dea,  almost  a  father  and  a 


URSUS  AS  TUTOR,  AND  URSUS  AS  GUARDIAN.      317 

mother.  Grumbling  all  the  while,  he  had  brought  them 
up ;  grumbling  all  the  while,  he  had  nourished  them. 
His  adoption  of  them  had  made  the  van  harder  to  draw, 
and  he  had  been  oftener  compelled  to  harness  himself 
by  Homo's  side  to  help  pull  it.  We  may  remark  here, 
however,  that  after  the  first  few  years,  when  Gwynplaine 
was  nearly  grown  up  and  Ursus  had  grown  quite  old, 
Gwynplaine  had  taken  his  turn  and  drawn  Ursus. 

Ursus,  seeing  that  Gwynplaine  was  becoming  a  man, 
had  cast  the  horoscope.  "  Your  fortune  is  made, "  he 
said  to  him  once,  alluding  to  his  disfigurement. 

This  family  of  an  old  man  and  two  children,  with  a 
wolf,  had  become,  as  they  wandered,  more  and  more 
closely  united.  Their  roving  life  had  not  hindered  edu- 
cation. "  To  travel  is  to  grow, "  Ursus  said.  Gwyn- 
plaine was  evidently  made  to  exhibit  at  fairs.  Ursus 
had  cultivated  in  him  feats  of  dexterity,  and  had  in- 
crusted  him  with  as  much  of  the  science  and  wisdom  he 
himself  possessed  as  possible.  Ursus,  contemplating 
the  perplexing  mask  of  Gwynplaine 's  face,  often  growled, 
"  He  has  begun  well.  "  It  was  probably  for  this  reason 
that  he  had  tried  to  endow  him  with  every  ornament  of 
philosophy  and  wisdom.  He  repeated  constantly  to 
Gwynplaine :  — 

"  Be  a  philosopher.  To  be  wise  is  to  be  invulnerable. 
You  see  what  I  am.  I  have  never  shed  a  tear.  This  is 
all  the  result  of  my  wisdom.  Do  you  think  that  occa- 
sion for  tears  has  been  wanting,  had  I  felt  disposed  to 
weep  ?  " 

Ursus,  in  one  of  his  monologues  in  the  hearing  of  the 
wolf,  said  :  "  I  have  taught  Gwynplaine  everything,  Latin 
included.   I  have  taught  Dea  nothing,  music  included.  " 

Ursus  had  taught  them  both  to  sing.  He  had  himself 
quite  a  talent  for  playing  on  the  oaten  reed,  a  little  flute 
of  that  period.     He  played  on  it  very  agreeably,  as  also 


318  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

on  the  chiffonie,  —  a  sort  of  beggar's  hurdy-gurdy,  men- 
tioned in  the  Chronicle  of  Bertrand  Duguesclin  as  the 
"  truant  instrument, "  which  started  the  symphony. 
These  instruments  attracted  the  crowd.  Ursus  would 
show  them  the  chiffonie,  and  say,  "  It  is  called  organis- 
trum  in  Latin. "  He  had  taught  Dea  and  Gwynplaine 
to  sing  according  to  the  method  of  Orpheus  and  of  Egide 
Binchois.  Frequently  he  interrupted  the  lessons  with 
enthusiastic  cries,  such  as,  "  Orpheus,  musician  of  Greece ! 
Binchois,  musician  of  Picardy ! "  These  branches  of 
culture  did  not  occupy  the  children  so  much  as  to  pre- 
vent their  adoring  each  other.  They  had  mingled  their 
hearts  together  as  they  grew  up,  as  two  saplings  planted 
near  each  other  mingle  their  branches  as  they  become 
trees. 

"  That  is  well, "  said  Ursus.  "  I  will  have  them 
marry,  one  of  these  days.  "  Then  he  grumbled  to  him- 
self :  "  They  are  quite  tiresome  with  their  love. " 

The  past,  at  least  their  little  past,  had  no  existence 
for  Dea  and  Gwynplaine.  They  knew  only  what  Ursus 
had  told  them  of  it.  They  called  Ursus  father.  The 
only  remembrance  which  Gwynplaine  had  of  his  infancy 
was  as  of  a  passage  of  demons  over  his  cradle.  He  had 
an  impression  of  having  been  trodden  in  the  darkness 
under  deformed  feet.  Was  this  intentional  or  not  ?  He 
was  ignorant  on  this  point.  The  one  thing  that  he  did 
remember  clearly,  even  to  the  slightest  detail,  were  his 
tragical  adventures  when  deserted  at  Portland.  The 
finding  of  Dea  made  the  dismal  night  a  notable  date  for 
him. 

Dea's  recollections  were  even  more  confused  than 
those  of  Gwynplaine.  In  so  young  a  child  all  remem- 
brance soon  melts  away.  She  recollected  her  mother  as 
something  cold.  Had  she  ever  seen  the  sun  ?  Perhaps 
so.     "  The  sun !  what  was  it  like  ? "     She  had  a  vagu* 


URSUS  AS  TUTOR,  AND  URSUS  AS  GUARDIAN.      319 

idea  of  something  luminous  and  warm,  of  which  Gwyn- 
plaine  now  filled  the  place.  They  spoke  to  each  other 
in  low  tones :  it  is  certain  that  cooing  is  the  most  im- 
portant thing  in  the  world.  Dea  often  said  to  Gwyn- 
plaine :  "  Light  means  that  you  are  speaking.  " 

Once,  no  longer  ahle  to  restrain  himself  as  he  caught 
sight  of  Dea's  bare  arm  through  her  thin  muslin  sleeve, 
Gwynplaine  touched  the  transparent  stuff  with  his  lips  : 
ideal  kiss  of  a  disfigured  mouth !  Dea  felt  a  deep  de- 
light ;  she  blushed  like  a  rose.  This  kiss  from  a  mon- 
ster brought  the  roseate  hues  of  dawn  to  gleam  on  this 
beautiful  brow  shrouded  in  night.  Gwynplaine  sighed 
with  a  sort  of  terror ;  but  Dea  pulled  up  her  sleeve,  and 
extending  her  naked  arm  to  Gwynplaine,  said,  "  Again !  " 
Gwynplaine  fled.  The  next  day  the  game  was  renewed, 
with  variations.  It  was  a  heavenly  subsidence  into  that 
sweet  abyss  called  love. 

At  such  things  Heaven  smiles  philosophically. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

BLINDNESS  GIVES   LESSONS   IN   CLAIRVOYANCE. 

GWYNPLAINE  reproached  himself  at  times.  He 
made  his  happiness  a  matter  of  conscience.  He 
fancied  that  in  allowing  a  woman  who  could  not  see 
him  to  love  him,  he  was  guilty  of  a  gross  deception. 
What  would  she  say  if  her  sight  were  suddenly  restored  ? 
How  she  would  shrink  from  what  had  previously  at- 
tracted her !  How  she  would  recoil  from  her  frightful 
lover !  What  a  cry !  what  covering  of  her  face  !  what 
a  night !  These  bitter  scruples  harassed  him.  He  told 
himself  that  such  a  monster  as  he  was  had  no  right  to 
love.  He  was  a  hydra  idolized  by  a  star.  It  was  his 
duty  to  enlighten  the  blind  star. 

One  day  Gwynplaine  said  to  Dea,  "  You  know  that  I 
am  very  ugly. " 

"  I  know  that  you  are  sublime, "  she  answered. 

He  resumed :  "  When  you  hear  everybody  laugh,  it  is 
at  me  they  are  laughing,  because  I  am  horrible. " 

"  I  love  you !  "  said  Dea.  After  a  silence,  she  added  : 
"  I  was  dead ;  you  restored  me  to  life.  When  you  are 
near  me  heaven  is  beside  me.  Give  me  your  hand,  that 
I  may  touch  heaven.  " 

Their  hands  met  and  grasped  each  other.  They  spoka 
no  more,  but  were  silent  in  the  plenitude  of  their  love. 

Ursus,  who  was  a  crabbed  old  fellow,  overheard  this. 
The  next  day  when  the  three  were  together,  he  re- 
marked, "  For  that  matter,  Dea  is  ugly  too. " 


BLINDNESS  GIVES  LESSONS  IN  CLAIRVOYANCE.     321 

The  words  produced  no  effect.  Dea  and  Gwynplaine 
were  not  even  listening.  Absorbed  in  each  other,  they 
rarely  heeded  the  exclamations  of  Ursus. 

The  remark,  "  Dea  is  ugly  too, "  showed  that  Ursus 
possessed  considerable  knowledge  of  women.  It  is  cer- 
tain that  Gwynplaine,  in  his  loyalty,  had  been  guilty  of 
an  imprudence.  To  have  said  "  I  am  ugly  "  to  any  other 
blind  girl  than  Dea  might  have  been  dangerous.  To  be 
blind,  and  in  love  too,  is  to  be  doubly  blind.  In  such 
a  situation  one  indulges  in  all  sorts  of  dreams.  Illusion 
is  the  food  of  dreams.  Take  illusion  from  love,  and  you 
take  from  it  its  aliment.  It  is  compounded  of  all  sorts  of 
enthusiasm,  and  of  both  physical  and  moral  admiration. 

Moreover,  you  should  never  tell  a  woman  anything 
she  cannot  understand.  She  will  dream  about  it,  and 
she  often  dreams  falsely.  An  enigma  in  a  reverie  spoils 
it.  The  shock  caused  by  the  fall  of  a  careless  word  dis- 
places that  against  which  it  strikes.  At  times  it  hap- 
pens, without  our  knowing  why,  that  because  we  have 
received  an  almost  imperceptible  blow  from  a  chance 
word,  the  heart  insensibly  empties  itself  of  love.  He 
who  loves,  perceives  a  decline  in  his  happiness.  There 
is  nothing  more  to  be  dreaded  than  this  slow  exudation 
from  the  fissure  in  the  vase. 

Happily,  Dea  was  not  formed  of  such  clay.  The  stuff 
of  which  women  are  usually  made  had  not  been  used  in 
her  construction.  She  had  a  rare  nature.  The  frame 
was  fragile,  but  not  the  heart.  A  divine  perseverance  in 
love  was  one  of  her  attributes.  The  whole  disturbance 
which  the  word  used  by  Gwynplaine  had  created  in  her, 
ended  in  her  saying  one  day,  — 

"  What  is  it  to  be  ugly  ?  It  is  to  do  wrong.  Gwyn- 
plaine only  does  good :  he  is  handsome. " 

Then,  under  the  form  of  interrogation  so  familiar  to 
children  and  to  the  blind,  Dea  resumed:  "  Too  see?  — 

VOL.  XIX.  —  21 


322  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

what  is  it  that  you  call  seeing?  For  my  own  part,  I 
cannot  see ;  I  know !  It  seems  that  to  see  means  to 
hide. " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Gwynplaine. 

Dea  answered :  "  To  see  is  a  thing  which  conceals  the 
true.  " 

"  No, "  said  Gwynplaine. 

"  But,  yes, "  replied  Dea,  "  since  you  say  you  are  ugly.  " 

She  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  exclaimed  fondly, 
"  Oh,  you  story-teller !  " 

Gwynplaine  felt  the  joy  of  having  confessed  and  of 
not  being  believed.  Both  his  conscience  and  his  love 
were  consoled. 

Dea  was  now  sixteen,  and  Gwynplaine  nearly  twenty-  * 
five.  A  sort  of  holy  childhood  had  continued  in  their 
love.  Thus  it  sometimes  happens  that  the  belated 
nightingale  prolongs  her  nocturnal  song  till  dawn.  Their 
caresses  went  no  further  than  pressing  hands,  or  lips 
brushing  a  naked  arm.  Soft,  half  articulate  whispers 
sufficed  them. 

Twenty-four  and  sixteen  !  So  it  happened  that  Ursus, 
who  did  not  lose  sight  of  the  ill-turn  he  intended  to  do 
them,  said,  — 

"  One  of  these  days  you  must  choose  a  religion. " 

"  Wherefore  ?  "  inquired  Gwynplaine. 

"  That  you  may  marry.  " 

"  That  is  done  already, "  said  Dea. 

Dea  did  not  understand  that  they  could  be  more  man 
and  wife  than  they  were  already.  This  chimerical  and 
virginal  content,  this  chaste  union  of  souls,  this  celi- 
bacy taken  for  marriage,  was  not  displeasing  to  Ursus. 
He  had  said  what  he  had  said  because  he  thought  it 
necessary ;  but  the  medical  knowledge  he  possessed 
convinced  him  that  Dea,  if  not  too  young,  was  too  frag- 
ile and  delicate  for  what  he  called  "  Hymen  in  flesh  and 


BLINDNESS  GIVES  LESSONS  IN  CLAIRVOYANCE.     323 

bone.  "  That  would  come  soon  enough.  Besides,  were 
they  not  already  married  ?  If  the  indissoluble  existed 
anywhere,  was  it  not  in  their  union  ?  Gwynplaine  and 
Dea,  —  they  were  creatures  worthy  of  the  love  they 
mutually  felt,  flung  by  misfortune  into  each  other's 
arms.  And  as  if  they  were  not  enough  in  this  first  link, 
love  had  supervened  and  united  them  yet  more  closely. 
"What  power  could  ever  break  that  iron  chain,  bound 
with  knots  of  flowers  ?  They  were  indeed  indissolubly 
united.  Dea  had  beauty,  Gwynplaine  had  sight.  Each 
brought  a  dowry.  They  were  more  than  coupled,  they 
were  paired ;  separated  solely  by  the  sacred  interposition 
of  innocence. 

Still,  in  spite  of  all  Gwynplaine's  noble  dreams  and 
his  absorbing  love  for  Dea,  he  was  a  man.  The  laws 
of  Nature  are  not  to  be  evaded.  He  underwent,  like 
everything  else  in  the  natural  world,  the  mysterious 
fermentation  ordained  by  the  Creator.  At  times,  there- 
fore, he  looked  at  the  women  in  the  crowd,  but  he  im- 
mediately felt  that  the  look  was  a  sin,  and  hastened 
to  retire,  repentant,  into  his  own  soul.  Let  us  add  that 
he  met  with  no  encouragement.  On  the  face  of  every 
woman  who  looked  upon  him,  he  saw  aversion,  antipa- 
thy, repugnance,  and  scorn.  It  was  evident  that  no  one 
save  Dea  was  possible  for  him.  This  probably  helped 
him  to  repent. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

NOT   ONLY   HAPPINESS,    BUT   PROSPERITY. 

HOW  many  true  things  are  told  in  stories !  The 
burn  of  the  invisible  fiend  who  touches  you  is 
remorse  for  a  wicked  thought. 

In  Gwynplaine  these  evil  thoughts  never  came  to  frui- 
tion ;  so  he  felt  no  remorse.  Sometimes  he  felt  regret. 
A  few  vague  compunctions  of  conscience,  what  was 
that?  Nothing.  Their  happiness  was  complete;  so 
complete,  that  they  were  no  longer  poor,  even. 

From  1689  to  1704  a  great  change  had  taken  place.  It 
sometimes  happened,  in  the  year  1704  that  an  immense 
van  drawn  by  two  sturdy  horses  made  its  appearance  about 
nightfall  in  some  small  village  on  the  sea-coast.  This 
van  resembled  the  hull  of  a  vessel  turned  upside  down, 
the  keel  serving  for  a  roof,  and  the  deck,  placed  upon 
four  wheels,  for  a  floor.  The  wheels  were  all  of  the  same 
size,  and  as  high  as  wagon-wheels.  Wheels,  pole,  and 
van  were  all  painted  green,  with  a  rhythmical  gradation 
of  shades,  which  ranged  from  bottle-green  for  the  wheels, 
to  apple-green  for  the  roofing.  This  colour  attracted 
attention  to  the  establishment,  which  was  known  on  all 
fair-grounds  as  The  Green  Box.  The  Green  Box  had 
but  two  windows,  one  at  each  end,  and  at  the  back 
there  was  a  door  with  steps  that  let  down.  On  the  roof, 
from  a  pipe  painted  green  like  the  rest,  smoke  arose. 
This  moving  house  was  always  newly  varnished  and 
washed.     In  front,  on  a  sort  of  platform,  fastened  to  the 


NOT  ONLY  HAPPINESS,  BUT  PROSPERITY.  325 

van,  behind  the  horses,  and  beside  an  old  man  who  held 
the  reins  and  guided  the  team,  two  gipsy  women, 
dressed  as  goddesses,  sounded  their  trumpets.  The  won- 
der  with  which  the  villagers  regarded  this  gorgeous 
establishment  was  overwhelming. 

This  was  the  old  van  of  Ursus,  with  its  proportions 
augmented  by  success,  and  changed  from  a  wretched  box 
into  a  fine  travelling  show.  A  kind  of  animal,  between 
dog  and  wolf,  was  chained  under  the  van ;  this  was 
Homo.  The  old  coachman  who  drove  the  horses  was 
the  philosopher  himself.  Whence  came  his  improve- 
ment from  the  shabby  box  to  the  Olympic  caravan  ? 
From  this,  —  Gwynplaine  had  become  famous. 

It  was  with  a  correct  idea  of  what  would  succeed  best 
among  men  that  Ursus  had  said  to  Gwynplaine :  "  Your 
fortune  is  made.  "  Ursus,  it  may  be  remembered,  had 
made  Gwynplaine  his  pupil.  Unknown  people  had 
worked  upon  his  face ;  he,  on  the  other  hand,  had  worked 
upon  his  mind ;  and  as  soon  as  the  growth  of  the  child 
warranted  it,  he  had  brought  him  out  on  the  stage, —  that 
is  to  say,  he  had  produced  him  in  front  of  the  van. 

The  effect  of  Gwynplaine 's  appearance  had  been  sur- 
prising. The  passers-by  were  immediately  struck  with 
wonder.  Never  had  anything  been  seen  to  be  compared 
to  this  extraordinary  imitation  of  laughter.  They  were 
ignorant  how  the  miracle  of  infectious  hilarity  had  been 
obtained.  Some  believed  it  to  be  natural,  others  de- 
clared it  to  be  artificial ;  and  all  these  conjectures  added 
to  the  reality ;  so  that  everywhere,  at  every  cross-road 
on  the  journey,  at  all  the  fair-grounds  and  fetes,  crowds 
rushed  to  see  Gwynplaine.  Thanks  to  this  great  attrac- 
tion, there  had  come  into  the  poor  purse  of  the  wan- 
derers first  a  shower  of  farthings,  then  of  pennies,  and 
finally  of  shillings.  The  curiosity  of  one  place  satisfied, 
they  passed  on  to  another.     Boiling  does  not  enrich  a 


326  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

stone,  but  it  enriches  a  caravan ;  and  year  by  year,  from 
city  to  city,  with  the  increased  growth  of  Gwynplaine's 
stature  and  ugliness,  the  good  fortune  predicted  by 
Ursus  had  come. 

"  What  a  good  turn  they  did  you  after  all,  my  boy, " 
said  Ursus. 

This  good  fortune  enabled  Ursus,  who  acted  as  busi- 
ness manager  to  have  the  chariot  of  his  dreams  con- 
structed,—  that  is  to  say,  a  caravan  large  enough  to 
carry  a  theatre,  and  thus  sow  science  and  art  in  the 
highways.  Moreover,  Ursus  had  been  able  to  add  to  the 
troupe  composed  of  himself,  Homo,  Gwynplaine,  and 
Dea,  two  horses  and  two  women,  who  were  the  goddesses 
of  the  troupe,  as  we  have  just  said,  and  also  its  servants. 
A  mythological  frontispiece  was,  in  those  days,  of  great 
service  to  a  travelling  show. 

"  We  are  a  wandering  temple, "  said  Ursus. 

These  two  gipsies,  picked  up  by  the  philosopher  from 
among  the  vagabondage  of  cities  and  suburbs,  were  ugly 
and  young,  and  were  called,  by  order  of  Ursus,  one 
Phoebe,  and  the  other  Venus.  For  these  read  Fibi  and 
Vinos,  that  we  may  conform  to  English  pronunciation. 
Phoebe  cooked ;  Venus  scrubbed  the  temple.  Moreover, 
on  days  of  performance  they  dressed  Dea.  Mountebanks 
have  to  appear  in  public  as  well  as  princes ;  and  on 
these  occasions  Dea  was  arrayed,  like  Fibi,  and  Vinos, 
in  a  Florentine  petticoat  of  flowered  stuff,  and  a  woman's 
jacket,  which,  having  no  sleeves,  left  the  arms  bare. 
Ursus  and  Gwynplaine  wore  men's  jackets  and  long 
loose  trousers,  like  sailors  on  board  a  man-of-war. 
Gwynplaine  had,  besides,  for  his  work  and  for  his  feats 
of  strength,  round  his  neck  and  over  his  shoulders,  a 
leather  esclavine.  He  took  care  of  the  horses.  Ursus 
and  Homo  took  care  of  each  other. 

Dea,  being  used  to  the  Green  Box,  moved  about  the 


NOT  ONLY  HAPPINESS,  BUT  PROSPERITY.  327 

interior  of  the  wheeled  house  with  almost  as  much  ease 
and  safety  as  a  person  who  could  see.  In  the  back  part 
of  this  new  and  imposing  establishment,  in  the  corner  to 
the  right  of  the  door,  stood  the  old  van,  securely  fas- 
tened to  the  floor.  This  now  served  as  a  sleeping  apart- 
ment and  dressing-room  for  Gwynplaine  and  Ursus.  In 
the  opposite  corner  was  the  kitchen. 

No  vessel  could  be  more  precise  and  compact  in  its 
arrangements  than  the  interior  of  the  Green  Box.  Every- 
thing connected  with  it  had  been  planned  with  remarkable 
foresight  and  care.  The  caravan  was  divided  into  three 
compartments,  partitioned  off  from  one  another.  These 
communicated  by  open  spaces  without  doors,  but  were 
hung  with  curtains.  The  compartment  in  the  rear  be- 
longed to  the  men,  the  compartment  in  front  to  the 
women,  the  compartment  in  the  middle,  separating  the 
two  sexes,  was  the  stage.  The  musical  instruments  and 
the  stage  properties  were  kept  in  the  kitchen.  A  loft 
under  the  arch  of  the  roof  held  the  scenery,  and  on  open- 
ing a  trap-door  lamps  appeared,  which  did  wonders  in 
the  way  of  lighting  the  stage ! 

Ursus  was  the  poet  of  these  representations ;  he  wrote 
the  pieces.  He  had  a  diversity  of  talents ;  he  was  clever 
at  sleight-of-hand.  Besides  the  voices  he  imitated,  he 
produced  all  sorts  of  unexpected  effects,  —  sudden  alter- 
nations of  light  and  darkness,  spontaneous  formations  of 
figures  or  words,  —  as  he  willed,  on  the  wall ;  also  van- 
ishing figures  in  chiaroscuro,  wonders  amidst  which  he 
seemed  to  meditate,  unmindful  of  the  crowd  who  mar- 
velled at  him. 

One  day  Gwynplaine  said  to  him :  "  Father,  you  look 
like  a  sorcerer !  " 

And  Ursus  replied,  ■  Then  I  look,  perhaps,  like  what 
I  am. " 

The  Green  Box,  built  on  a  model  conceived  by  Ursus, 


323  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

contained  this  stroke  of  ingenuity  :  between  the  fore  and 
hind  wheels,  the  central  panel  of  the  left  side  turned  on 
hinges  by  the  aid  of  chains  and  pulleys,  and  could  be 
let  down  at  will  like  a  drawbridge.  As  it  dropped,  it 
set  at  liberty  three  legs  also  on  hinges,  which  supported 
the  panel  and  converted  it  into  a  sort  of  platform.  The 
opening  thus  made  disclosed  the  stage,  which  was  en- 
larged by  the  platform  in  front.  This  opening  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  a  "  mouth  of  hell, "  in  the  words 
of  the  itinerant  Puritan  preachers,  who  turned  away 
from  it  with  horror.  It  was,  perhaps,  for  some  such 
impious  invention  that  Solon  kicked  out  Thespis. 

For  all  that,  Thespis  has  lasted  much  longer  than  is 
generally  supposed.  The  travelling  theatre  is  still  in 
existence.  It  was  on  these  stages  on  wheels  that  the 
ballets  and  dances  of  Amner  and  Pilkington  were  per- 
formed in  England  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  cen- 
turies ;  the  pastorals  of  Gilbert  Colin  in  France ;  and 
in  Flanders,  at  the  annual  fairs,  the  double  choruses  of 
Clement,  called  Non  Papa ;  in  Germany,  the  "  Adam 
and  Eve  "  of  Theiles ;  and,  in  Italy,  the  Venetian  exhi- 
bitions of  Animuccia  and  of  Ca-Fossis,  the  "  Silvse  "  of 
Gesualdo,  prince  of  Venosa,  the  "  Satyr, "  of  Laura 
Guidiccioni,  the  "  Despair  of  Philene, "  and  the  "  Death 
of  Ugolino, "  by  Vincent  Galileo,  father  of  the  astrono- 
mer, in  which  Vincent  Galileo  sang  his  own  music,  and 
accompanied  himself  on  his  viol  de  gamba ;  as  well  as 
all  the  first  attempts  of  the  Italian  opera,  which,  from 
1580,  substituted  free  inspiration  for  the  madrigal  style. 

The  chariot,  which  carried  Ursus,  Gwynplaine,  and 
their  fortunes,  and  in  front  of  which  Fibi  and  Vinos 
trumpeted  like  figures  of  Fame,  played  its  part  in  this 
great  Bohemian  and  literary  brotherhood.  Thespis 
would  no  more  have  disowned  Ursus,  than  Congrio 
would  have  disowned  Gwynplaine. 


NOT  ONLY  HAPPINESS,  BUT  PROSPERITY.  329 

On  arriving  at  open  spaces  in  towns  or  villages,  Ursus, 
in  the  intervals  between  the  tootings  of  Fibi  and  Vinos, 
gave  instructive  explanations  concerning  the  trumpet- 
ings.  "This  symphony  is  Gregorian,"  he  would  ex- 
claim, "  citizens  and  townsmen ;  the  Gregorian  form  of 
worship,  this  great  progress,  has  had  to  contend  in  Italy 
with  the  Ambrosial  ritual,  and  in  Spain  with  the 
Mozarabic  ceremonial,  and  has  achieved  its  triumph 
over  them  with  difficulty. "  After  which  the  Green  Box 
drew  up  in  some  place  chosen  by  Ursus,  and  evening 
having  come,  and  the  panel  stage  having  been  let  down, 
the  theatre  opened  and  the  performance  began. 

The  scenery  of  the  Green  Box  represented  a  landscape, 
painted  by  Ursus ;  and  as  he  knew  nothing  about  paint- 
ing, it  could,  if  need  be,  represent  a  cave  just  as  well 
as  a  landscape.  The  curtain  was  quite  a  gorgeous  silk 
affair,  with  large  plaids  of  contrasting  colours. 

The  public  stood  outside,  in  the  street,  forming  a 
semicircle  round  the  stage,  exposed  to  the  wind  and 
weather, —  an  arrangement  which  made  rain  even  less  de- 
sirable for  theatres  in  those  days  than  now.  When  they 
could,  they  acted  in  an  inn  yard,  on  which  occasions 
the  windows  of  the  different  stories  served  as  boxes  for 
the  spectators.  The  theatre  being  better  protected,  the 
audience  was  a  better  paying  one. 

Ursus  was  everywhere,  —  in  the  piece,  in  the  com- 
pany, in  the  kitchen,  in  the  orchestra.  Vinos  beat  the 
drum,  handling  the  sticks  with  great  dexterity.  Fibi 
played  on  the  morache,  a  kind  of  guitar.  The  wolf  had 
been  promoted  to  be  a  utility  gentleman,  and  played  his 
little  parts  as  occasion  required.  Often  when  they  ap- 
peared side  by  side  on  the  stage,  Ursus  in  his  tightly 
laced  bear's  skin,  Homo  with  his  wolf's  skin  fitting 
still  better,  one  could  hardly  tell  which  was  the  beast 
This  flattered  Ursus. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ABSURDITIES    WHICH    FOLKS    WITHOUT    TASTE    CALL 
POETRY. 

THE  pieces  written  by  Ursus  were  interludes,  —  a 
kind  of  composition  out  of  fashion  nowadays. 
One  of  these  pieces,  which  has  not  come  down  to  us, 
was  entitled  "  Ursus  Rursus. "  It  is  probable  that  he 
played  the  principal  part  himself.  A  pretended  exit, 
followed  by  a  reappearance,  was  doubtless  its  praise- 
worthy and  edifying  subject. 

The  titles  of  the  interludes  of  Ursus  were  sometimes 
in  Latin,  as  we  have  seen,  and  the  poetry  frequently  in 
Spanish.  The  Spanish  verses  written  by  Ursus  were 
rhymed,  like  nearly  all  the  Castilian  poetry  of  that 
period.  This  did  not  puzzle  the  people.  Spanish  was 
then  a  familiar  language ;  and  the  English  sailor  spoke 
Castilian  as  the  Roman  sailors  spoke  Carthaginian  (See 
Plautus).  Moreover,  at  a  theatrical  representation,  as 
at  Mass,  Latin,  or  any  other  unknown  language,  has  no 
terrors  for  the  audience.  They  get  out  of  the  dilemma 
by  adapting  familiar  words  to  the  sounds.  Our  old 
Gallic  France  was  often  treated  in  this  irreverent  way. 
At  church,  under  cover  of  an  Immolatus,  the  faithful 
chanted,  "  I  will  make  merry ;  "  and  under  a  Sanctus, 
"  Kiss  me,  sweet.  "  The  Council  of  Trent  was  required 
to  put  an  end  to  this  sacrilege. 

Ursus  had  composed  expressly  for  Gwynplaine  an  in- 
terlude, with  which  he  was  well  pleased.     It  was  hia 


ABSURDITIES  WHICH  FOLKS  CALL  POETRY.   331 

best  work.  He  had  thrown  his  whole  soul  into  it.  To 
give  one's  entire  talent  in  the  production  is  the  great- 
est triumph  that  any  one  can  achieve.  The  toad  which 
produces  a  toad  achieves  a  grand  success.  You  doubt 
it?  Then  try  it  yourself.  Ursus  had  carefully  polished 
this  interlude.  This  bear's  cub  was  entitled  "  Chaos 
Vanquished. " 

Here  it  was.  A  night  scene.  When  the  curtain  drew  up, 
the  crowd,  massed  around  the  Green  Box,  saw  nothing 
but  intense  darkness.  In  this  darkness  three  shadowy 
forms  were  moving  about,  —  a  wolf,  a  bear,  and  a  man. 
The  wolf  acted  the  wolf ;  Ursus,  the  bear ;  Gwynplaine, 
the  man.  The  wolf  and  the  bear  represented  the  fero- 
cious forces  of  Nature,  —  unreasoning  hunger  and  savage 
ignorance.  Both  rushed  on  Gwynplaine.  It  was  chaos 
combating  man.  No  face  could  be  distinguished.  Gwyn- 
plaine fought  enfolded  in  a  winding-sheet,  his  face  being 
covered  by  his  thickly  falling  locks.  All  else  was  shadow. 
The  bear  growled,  the  wolf  gnashed  his  teeth,  the  man 
cried  out.  The  man  was  down ;  the  beasts  overwhelmed 
him.  He  called  for  aid  and  succour;  he  shrieked  out 
an  agonized  appeal  to  the  Unknown.  He  gave  a  death- 
rattle.  To  witness  this  agony  of  the  prostrate  man,  now 
scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  brutes,  was  appalling. 
The  crowd  looked  on  breathless ;  in  a  minute  more  the 
wild  beasts  would  triumph,  and  chaos  re-absorb  man.  A 
struggle  —  cries  —  howlings ;  then,  all  at  once,  silence. 

A  song  in  the  distance.  Mysterious  music  floated  out, 
accompanying  this  chant  of  invisible  spirits ;  and  sud- 
denly, none  knowing  whence  or  how,  a  white  apparition 
arose.  This  apparition  was  a  light;  this  light  was  a 
woman;  this  woman  was  a  spirit.  Dea  —  calm,  fair, 
beautiful,  awe-inspiring  in  her  serenity  and  sweetness 
—  appeared  in  the  centre  of  a  luminous  haze,  the  very 
spirit  of  dawn.     With  a  voice  light,  sweet,  indescribable, 


332  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

she  sang  in  the  new-born  light,  —  she,  the  invisible, 
suddenly  made  visible.  They  thought  that  they  heard 
the  hymn  of  an  angel  or  the  song  of  a  bird.  On  be~ 
holding  this  apparition  the  man,  starting  up  in  ecstasy, 
struck  the  beasts  with  his  fists,  and  overthrew  them. 

Then  the  vision,  gliding  along  in  a  manner  difficult  to 
understand,  and  therefore  the  more  admired,  sang  these 
words  in  sufficiently  pure  Spanish  for  the  English  sailors 
who  were  present :  — 

"Ora!  llora! 
De  palabra 
Nace  razon. 
Da  luz  el  son."  * 

Then,  looking  down,  as  if  she  saw  a  gulf  beneath,  she 
went  on:  — 

"  Noche,  quita  te  de  alii ! 
El  alba  canta  hallali."  2 

As  she  sang,  the  man  raised  himself  by  degrees ;  instead 
of  crouching  he  was  now  kneeling,  his  hands  elevated 
towards  the  vision,  his  knees  resting  on  the  beasts, 
which  lay  motionless,  as  if  petrified.  Turning  towards 
him,  she  continued,  — 

"  Es  menester  a  cielos  ir, 
Y  tu  que  llorabas  reir."  8 

Then  approaching  him  with  the  majesty  of  a  star,  she 
added,  — 

"  Gebra  barzon ; 
Deja,  monstro, 
A  tu  negro 
Caparazon."  * 

And  placed  her  hand  upon  his  brow.  Then  another 
voice  arose,  deeper,  and,  consequently,  still  sweeter,  — 

1  Pray  !  weep !    Eeason  is  born  of  tbe  word.     Song  creates  light. 

8  Night,  away !  the  dawn  sings  hallali. 

*  Thou  must  go  to  heaven,  and  smile,  thou  that  weepest. 

4  Break  the  yoke  ;  throw  off,  monster,  thy  dark  clothing. 


ABSURDITIES  WHICH  FOLKS  CALL  POETRY.       333 

a  voice  broken  but  inwrapt  in  a  gravity  both  wild  antx 
tender.  It  was  the  human  voice  responding  to  the  voice 
of  the  stars.  Gwynplaine,  still  in  obscurity,  his  head 
under  Dea's  hand,  kneeling  on  the  vanquished  bear  and 
Wolf,  sang:  — 

*  O  ven  !  ama ! 

Eres  alma, 
Soy  corazon."  * 

Suddenly  from  the  shadow  a  glare  of  light  fell  full  upon 
Gwynplaine.  Then,  through  the  darkness,  the  monstei 
was  fully  exposed. 

The  excitement  of  the  crowd  was  indescribable. 
Shrieks  of  laughter  resounded.  Mirth  is  created  by 
startling  surprises,  and  nothing  could  be  more  unex- 
pected than  this  termination.  Never  was  there  a  sensa- 
tion comparable  to  that  produced  by  the  ray  of  light 
falling  on  that  mask,  at  once  so  ludicrous  and  terrible 
in  its  aspect.  They  laughed  on  account  of  his  laugh. 
Everywhere :  above,  below,  behind,  in  front,  at  the 
uttermost  distance, —  men,  women,  old  grey-heads,  rosy- 
faced  children ;  the  good,  the  wicked,  the  gay,  the  sad, 
everybody.  And  even  in  the  streets,  the  passers-by  who 
could  see  nothing,  hearing  the  laughter,  laughed  also. 
The  laughter  ended  in  a  wild  clapping  of  hands  and 
stamping  of  feet.  The  curtain  dropped,  Gwynplaine 
was  recalled  with  frenzy.  Hence  an  immense  success. 
Have  you  seen  "  Chaos  Vanquished  "  ?  Gwynplaine  be- 
came the  rage.  The  listless  came  to  laugh,  the  melan- 
choly came  to  laugh,  evil  consciences  came  to  laugh,  — 
a  laugh  so  irrisistible  that  it  seemed  almost  an  epidemic. 
There  is  one  epidemic  from  which  men  do  not  fly,  and 
that  is  the  contagion  of  joy. 

Gwynplaine's  successes,  it  must  be  admitted,  had  not 
extended   beyond   the   lower  classes.     A  great   crowd 

1  0,  come,  and  love  f  thou  art  soul,  I  am  heart. 


334  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

means  a  crowd  of  nobodies.  "  Chaos  Vanquished  *  could 
be  seen  for  a  penny.  Fashionable  people  never  go  where 
the  price  of  admission  is  a  penny. 

Ursus  had  a  very  exalted  opinion  of  this  work,  which 
he  had  brooded  over  a  long  time.  "  It  is  very  much  in 
the  style  of  one  Shakspeare, "  he  said  modestly.  The 
juxtaposition  of  Dea  added  to  the  indescribable  effect 
produced  by  Gwynplaine.  Her  white  face  by  the  side 
of  the  gnome,  represented  what  might  have  been  called 
divine  astonishment.  The  audience  regarded  Dea  with 
a  sort  of  mysterious  anxiety.  She  had  in  her  aspect  the 
dignity  of  a  virgin  and  of  a  priestess.  They  saw  that 
she  was  blind,  and  yet  felt  that  she  could  see.  She 
seemed  to  stand  on  the  threshold  of  the  supernatural. 
The  light  that  beamed  on  her  seemed  half  earthly  and 
half  heavenly.  She  had  come  to  work  on  earth,  and  to 
work  as  heaven  works,  in  the  radiance  of  morning.  She 
found  a  hydra,  and  created  a  soul.  She  seemed  like  a 
creative  power,  satisfied,  but  astonished  at  the  result  of 
her  creation ;  and  the  audience  fancied  that  they  could 
see  in  the  divine  surprise  of  her  face  wonder  at  the  re- 
sult she  had  achieved.  They  felt  that  she  loved  this 
monster.  Did  she  know  that  he  was  one  ?  Yes,  since 
she  touched  him;  no,  since  she  accepted  him.  With- 
out going  too  deep,  for  spectators  do  not  like  the  fatigue 
of  seeking  below  the  surface,  something  more  was  under- 
stood than  was  perceived.  And  this  strange  spectacle 
had  the  transparency  of  an  avatar. 

As  for  Dea,  what  she  felt  cannot  be  expressed  in  hu- 
man words ;  she  knew  that  she  was  in  the  midst  of  a 
crowd,  and  yet  knew  not  what  a  crowd  was.  She  heard 
a  murmur,  that  was  all.  For  her  the  crowd  was  but  a 
breath.  Generations  are  passing  breaths.  Man  respires, 
aspires,  and  expires.  In  the  crowd  Dea  felt  utterly 
alone,  and  shuddered  as  one  shudders  on  the  edge  of  a 


ABSURDITIES  WHICH  FOLKS   CALL  POETRY.      335 

precipice.  Suddenly,  even  while  shuddering  at  her  iso- 
lation, she  regains  confidence.  She  has  found  her  thread 
of  safety  in  the  universe  of  shadows,  —  she  has  placed  her 
hand  on  Gwynplaine's  powerful  head.  Joy  unspeakable 
fills  her  heart  as  she  lays  her  rosy  fingers  on  his  thick 
locks.  Wool  when  touched  gives  an  impression  of  soft- 
ness. Dea  touched  a  lamb  which  she  knew  to  be  a  lion. 
Her  whole  heart  flowed  out  in  love  ineffable.  She  felt 
safe  now,  she  had  found  her  saviour.  The  public  be- 
lieved that  they  saw  the  contrary.  To  the  spectators 
the  being  loved  was  Gwynplaine,  and  the  saviour  was 
Dea.  "  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  thought  Ursus,  to  whom 
the  heart  of  Dea  was  an  open  book.  And  Dea,  reassured, 
consoled,  and  delighted,  adored  as  an  angel  what  the 
people  regarded  as  a  monster. 

True  love  never  wanes.  Being  all  soul  it  cannot  cool. 
A  brazier  may  become  full  of  cinders ;  not  so  a  star. 
These  exquisite  impressions  were  renewed  every  evening 
for  Dea,  and  she  was  ready  to  weep  with  tenderness 
whilst  the  audience  was  in  convulsions  of  laughter. 
Those  around  her  were  only  joyful ;  she  was  happy. 

The  sensation  of  gaiety  due  to  the  sudden  shock 
caused  by  the  sight  of  Gwynplaine  was  evidently  not 
intended  by  Ursus.  He  would  have  preferred  more 
smiles  and  less  laughter,  and  more  of  a  literary  triumph. 
But  success  consoles.  He  reconciled  himself  to  this 
disappointment  every  evening,  as  he  counted  how  many 
shillings  the  piles  of  farthings  made,  and  how  many 
pounds  the  piles  of  shillings  made.  He  consoled  him- 
self, too,  with  the  belief  that  after  their  laughter  was 
over,  "  Chaos  Vanquished  "  would  continue  to  haunt 
them  by  reason  of  the  noble  sentiments  it  inculcated. 
Perhaps  he  was  not  altogether  wrong;  the  foundations 
of  a  work  settle  down  in  the  mind  of  the  public.  The 
fact  is,  the  spectators,  attentive  to  the  wolf,  the  bear, 


336  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

to  the  man,  then  to  the  music,  to  the  howlings  silenced 
by  harmony,  to  the  night  dispelled  by  dawn,  to  the 
chant  releasing  the  light,  accepted  with  a  confused,  dull 
sympathy,  and  with  a  certain  emotional  respect,  the 
dramatic  poem  of  "  Chaos  Vanquished, "  the  victory  of 
spirit  over  matter,  ending  with  the  triumph  of  man. 

Such  were  the  vulgar  pleasures  of  the  people.  They 
sufficed  them.  The  people  had  not  the  means  of  going 
to  the  elevating  prize-fights  of  the  gentry,  and  could  not 
bet  a  thousand  guineas  on  Helmsgail  against  Phelem- 
ghe-Madone,  like  great  lords  and  gentlemen. 


CHAPTER  X. 

AN   OUTSIDER'S  VIEW   OF   MEN   AND   THINGS. 

MAN  has  a  desire  to  revenge  himself  on  that  which 
pleases  him.  Hence  the  contempt  felt  for  the 
comedian.  This  being  charms,  diverts,  distracts,  teaches, 
enchants,  consoles  me,  transports  me  into  an  ideal  world, 
is  agreeable  and  useful  to  me.  What  evil  can  I  do  him 
in  return  ?  Humiliate  him.  Disdain  is  a  crushing  blow, 
so  I  will  crush  him  with  disdain.  He  amuses  me,  there- 
fore he  is  vile.  He  serves  me,  therefore  I  hate  him. 
Where  can  I  find  a  stone  to  throw  at  him  ?  Priest,  give 
me  yours.  Philosopher,  give  me  yours.  Bossuet,  ex- 
communicate him.  Eousseau,  insult  him.  Orator,  spit 
the  pebbles  from  your  mouth  at  him.  Bear,  fling  your 
stone.  Let  us"  hurl  stones  at  the  tree,  hit  the  fruit  and 
eat  it.  Bravo !  down  with  him !  To  repeat  poetry  is  to 
be  infected  with  the  plague.  Wretched  play-actor !  we 
will  put  him  in  the  pillory  for  his  success.  Let  him 
follow  up  his  triumph  with  our  hisses.  Let  him  collect 
a  crowd,  and  yet  create  a  solitude  around  him.  Thus  it 
is  that  the  wealthy,  termed  the  higher  classes,  have  in- 
vented for  the  actor  that  form  of  isolation  known  as 
public  applause. 

The  vulgar  herd  is  less  brutal.  They  neither  hated 
nor  despised  Gwynplaine.  Only  the  meanest  calker  of 
the  meanest  crew  of  the  meanest  merchantman,  anchored 
in  the  meanest  English  sea-port,  considered  himself 
immeasurably  superior  to  this  amuser  of  the  "  scum, " 

VOL.   XIX.  —  22 


338  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

and  believed  that  a  calker  is  as  superior  to  an  actor  as 
a  lord  is  to  a  calker.  Gwynplaine  was,  therefore,  like 
all  comedians,  applauded  and  kept  at  a  distance.  Truly, 
success  in  this  world  is  a  crime,  and  must  be  bitterly 
expiated.  He  who  obtains  the  medal  has  to  take  its 
reverse  side  as  well. 

For  Gwynplaine  there  was  no  reverse  side.  In  one 
sense,  both  sides  of  his  medal  pleased  him.  He  was 
satisfied  with  the  applause,  and  content  with  the  isola- 
tion. In  applause,  he  was  rich  ;  in  isolation,  happy.  To 
be  rich,  to  one  of  his  low  estate,  means  to  be  no  longer 
wretchedly  poor,  to  have  neither  holes  in  his  clothes 
nor  cold  at  his  hearth,  nor  emptiness  in  his  stomach. 
It  is  to  eat  when  hungry,  and  drink  when  thirsty.  It 
is  to  have  everything  needful,  including  a  penny  for  a 
beggar.  This  paltry  wealth,  enough  for  liberty,  Gwyn- 
plaine now  possessed.  So  far  as  his  soul  was  concerned, 
he  was  opulent.  He  had  love.  What  more  could  he 
want  ?     Nothing. 

You  may  think  that,  had  the  offer  been  made  to  him 
to  cure  his  disfigurement,  he  would  have  jumped  at  it. 
But  he  would  have  refused  it  emphatically.  What !  to 
throw  off  his  mask  and  have  his  former  face  restored, 
to  be  the  creature  he  had  perchance  been  created,  hand- 
some and  charming  ?  No,  he  would  not  have  consented 
to  it.  For  what  would  he  have  to  support  Dea  upon  ? 
what  would  have  become  of  the  poor  child,  the  sweet 
blind  girl  who  loved  him  ?  Without  his  disfigurement, 
making  him  a  clown  without  parallel,  he  would  have  been 
a  common  mountebank,  like  any  other ;  a  common  ath- 
lete, a  picker  up  of  pence  from  the  chinks  in  the  pave- 
ment, and  Dea  would,  perhaps,  not  have  had  bread  to 
eat.  It  was  with  deep  and  tender  pride  that  he  felt 
himself  the  protector  of  the  helpless  and  heavenly  crea- 
ture.    Night,  solitude,  nakedness,  weakness,  ignorance, 


AN  OUTSIDER'S  VIEW  OF  MEN  AND  THINGS.        339 

hunger,  and  thirst  —  the  seven  dread  jaws  of  poverty  — ■ 
yawned  about  her,  and  he  was  Saint  George  fighting  the 
dragon.  He  triumphed  over  poverty.  How  ?  By  his 
deformity.  By  means  of  his  deformity  he  was  useful^ 
helpful,  victorious,  great !  He  had  but  to  show  himself, 
and  money  poured  in.  He  was  a  master  of  crowds,  the 
sovereign  of  the  mob.  He  could  do  everything  for  Dea. 
He  supplied  her  every  want ;  her  desires,  her  tastes,  her 
fancies,  —  in  the  limited  sphere  in  which  wishes  are  pos- 
sible to  the  blind,  —  he  gratified. 

Gwynplaine  and  Dea  had  been,  as  we  have  already 
shown,  a  Providence  to  each  other.  He  felt  himself 
raised  on  her  wings,  she  felt  herself  carried  in  his  arms. 
To  protect  the  being  who  loves  you,  to  give  what  she 
requires  to  her  who  shines  on  you  as  your  star,  can  any- 
thing be  sweeter  ?  Gwynplaine  possessed  this  supreme 
happiness,  and  he  owed  it  to  his  deformity.  By  it  he 
had  gained  the  means  of  livelihood  for  himself  and 
others ;  by  it  he  had  gained  independence,  liberty,  celeb- 
rity, internal  satisfaction,  and  pride.  In  his  deformity 
he  was  invulnerable.  The  Fates  could  do  nothing  be- 
yond this  blow  in  which  they  had  expended  their  whole 
force,  but  which  he  had  converted  into  a  triumph.  This 
greatest  of  misfortunes  had  become  the  summit  of  Elys- 
ium. Gwynplaine  was  imprisoned  in  his  deformity,  — 
but  with  Dea.  And  this  was,  as  we  have  already  said, 
to  live  in  a  dungeon  in  paradise.  A  wall  stood  between 
them  and  the  living  world.  So  much  the  better.  This 
wall  protected  as  well  as  enclosed  them.  What  could 
harm  Dea,  what  could  harm  Gwynplaine,  with  such  a 
fortress  around  them  ?  To  deprive  him  of  his  success 
was  impossible.  They  would  have  to  deprive  him  of 
his  face.  Take  his  love  from  him  ?  Impossible !  Dea 
could  not  see  him.  The  blindness  of  Dea  was  divinely 
incurable.     What   harm  did  his  deformity  do   Gwyn- 


340  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

plaine  ?  None.  What  advantage  did  it  give  him  ?  Every 
advantage.  He  was  beloved,  notwithstanding  its  hor- 
ror, and,  perhaps,  for  that  very  reason.  Infirmity  and 
deformity  had,  by  instinct,  been  drawn  towards  and 
united  with  each  other.  To  be  beloved,  is  not  that 
everything  ?  Gwynplaine  thought  of  his  disfigurement 
only  with  gratitude.  He  was  blessed  in  the  stigma. 
With  joy  he  felt  that  it  was  irremediable  and  eternal. 
What  a  blessing  that  it  was  so !  While  there  were  high- 
ways and  fair-grounds,  and  journeys  to  take,  and  people 
below,  and  the  sky  above,  they  were  sure  of  a  living. 
Dea  would  want  for  nothing,  and  they  would  have  love. 

Gwynplaine  would  not  have  changed  faces  with 
Apollo.  To  be  a  monster  was  his  happiness.  He  was 
so  happy  that  he  felt  compassion  for  the  men  around 
him.  He  pitied  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  No  man's 
nature  is  wholly  consistent ;  so,  although  he  was  glad  to 
live  within  an  enclosure,  he  lifted  his  head  above  the 
wall  from  time  to  time,  but  only  to  retreat  again  with 
even  more  joy  into  his  solitude  with  Dea,  having  drawn 
his  comparisons.  What  did  he  see  around  him  ?  What 
were  those  living  creatures  of  which  his  wandering  life 
showed  him  so  many  specimens,  changed  every  day? 
Always  new  crowds,  but  always  the  same  multitude ; 
ever  new  faces,  but  ever  the  same  misfortunes.  Every 
evening  every  known  phase  of  human  misery  came 
within  his  notice. 

The  Green  Box  was  popular.  Low  prices  attract  the 
low  classes.  Those  who  came  were  the  weak,  the  poor, 
the  insignificant.  They  rushed  to  Gwynplaine  as  they 
rushed  to  the  gin-shop.  They  came  to  buy  a  pennyworth 
of  forgetfulness.  From  his  platform  Gwynplaine  passed 
these  wretched  people  in  review.  His  mind  was  ab- 
sorbed in  the  contemplation  of  each  successive  form  of 
wide-spread  misery.  The  physiognomy  of  a  man  is 
moulded  by  conscience,  and  by  the  tenor  of  his  life,  and 


AN  OUTSIDER'S  VIEW  OF  MEN  AND  THINGS.        341 

the  result  is  a  host  of  mysterious  excavations.  There 
was  not  a  pain  nor  an  emotion  of  anger,  shame,  or  despair, 
of  which  Gwynplaine  did  not  see  the  trace.  The  mouths 
of  those  children  were  hungering  for  food.  That  man 
was  a  father,  that  woman  a  mother,  and  behind  them 
might  be  seen  families  on  the  road  to  ruin.  There  was 
a  face  already  marked  by  vice  and  contact  with  crime, 
and  the  reasons  were  plain,  —  ignorance  and  poverty. 
Another  showed  the  stamp  of  original  goodness,  obliter- 
ated by  social  pressure,  and  turned  to  hatred.  On  the 
face  of  an  old  woman  he  saw  starvation ;  on  that  of  a 
girl,  prostitution.  The  same  fact,  and  although  the 
girl  had  the  resource  of  her  youth,  all  the  sadder  for 
that!  In  this  crowd  were  hands  but  no  tools;  the 
workers  only  asked  for  work,  but  work  was  wanting. 
Sometimes  a  soldier  came  and  seated  himself  by  the 
workmen,  sometimes  a  wounded  pensioner ;  and  Gwyn- 
plaine saw  the  grim  spectre  of  war.  Here,  he  read  lack 
of  employment,  there,  man-farming, —  slavery.  On  some 
brows  he  saw  a  gradual  return  to  animalism,  — that  slow 
return  of  man  to  beast,  produced  in  those  in  the  lower 
walks  of  life  by  the  good  fortune  of  their  superiors. 

There  was  a  break  in  the  gloom  for  Gwynplaine.  He 
and  Dea  had  a  loop-hole  of  happiness;  the  rest  was 
damnation.  Gwynplaine  saw  above  him  the  thoughtless 
trampling  of  the  powerful,  the  rich,  the  magnificent,  and 
the  great  of  the  earth.  Below,  he  saw  the  pale  faces  of 
the  disinherited.  He  saw  himself  and  Dea,  with  their 
blessings,  so  paltry  in  appearance,  so  great  to  themselves, 
between  these  two  worlds.  That  which  was  above  went 
and  came,  free,  joyous,  dancing,  carelessly  trampling 
everything  and  everybody  under  foot;  above  him,  the 
world  which  treads ;  below,  the  world  which  is  trodden 
upon.  It  is  a  fatal  fact,  and  one  indicating  a  profound 
social  evil,  that  happiness  should  crush  misery.  Gwyn- 
plaine comprehended  this  gloomy  fact  thoroughly.    What 


342  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

a  destiny !  Must  a  man  needs  drag  himself  along  through 
mire  and  corruption,  with  such  vicious  tastes,  such  a 
total  abdication  of  his  rights,  or  such  abjectness  that  one 
feels  inclined  to  crush  him  under  foot  ?  Of  what  butter- 
fly can  this  earthly  life  be  grub  ?  What !  in  this  vast 
crowd  of  ignorant,  starving  creatures,  scarcely  able  to 
distinguish  good  from  evil,  — the  inflexibility  of  human 
laws  producing  marvellous  laxity  of  conscience,  —  is 
there  no  child  that  grows  but  to  be  stunted,  no  virgin 
that  matures  but  for  sin,  no  rose  that  blooms  but  for  the 
slimy  snail  ? 

Gwynplaine  shuddered  as  he  saw  the  foaming  wave  of 
misery  dash  over  the  crowd  of  humanity.  He  himself 
was  safe  in  port,  as  he  watched  the  wrecks  around  him. 
Sometimes  he  buried  his  disfigured  head  in  his  hands 
and  dreamed.  What  folly  to  expect  to  be  happy !  What 
an  idle  dream !  Strange  ideas  arose  within  him.  Ab- 
surd notions  flitted  through  his  brain.  Because  he  had 
once  succoured  an  infant,  he  felt  a  ridiculous  desire  to 
succour  the  whole  world.  The  mists  of  reverie  some- 
times obscured  his  individuality,  and  he  lost  all  ideas 
of  proportion  so  far  as  to  ask  himself  the  question, 
"  What  can  be  done  for  the  poor  ?  "  Sometimes  he  was 
so  absorbed  in  the  subject  that  he  unconsciously  uttered 
his  thoughts  aloud.  Ursus  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  Oh,  if  I  were  powerful,  would  I  not  aid  the 
wretched  ? "  Gwynplaine  would  exclaim,  continuing 
his  reverie.  But  what  am  I?  —  A  mere  atom.  What 
can  I  do  ?  —  Nothing. " 

He  was  mistaken.  He  was  able  to  do  a  great  deal  for 
the  wretched.  He  could  make  them  laugh ;  and,  as  we 
have  said  before,  to  make  people  laugh  is  to  make  them 
forget.  What  a  benefactor  to  humanity  is  he  who  can 
bestow  forgetfulness ! 


CHAPTER  XI 

GWYNPLAINE    THINKS    JUSTICE,     AND    URSUS   SPEAKS 
TRUTH. 

A  PHILOSOPHER  is  a  spy ;  so  it  was  only  natural 
that  Ursus  should  watch  his  pupil  closely.  Our 
soliloquies  leave  on  our  brows  a  faint  reflection,  distin- 
guishable to  the  eye  of  a  physiognomist.  Hence,  the 
ideas  that  occurred  to  Gwynplaine  did  not  escape 
Ursus.  One  day  as  Gwynplaine  was  meditating,  Ursus 
took  him  by  the  jacket,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  You  strike  me  as  being  a  close  observer !  You  fool ! 
Take  care.  It  is  no  business  of  yours.  You  have  only 
one  thing  to  do,  —  to  love  Dea.  You  have  two  great 
causes  for  thankfulness,  —  the  first  is,  that  the  crowd 
sees  your  face ;  the  second  is,  that  Dea  does  not.  You 
have  no  right  to  the  happiness  you  possess,  for  no 
woman  who  saw  your  mouth  would  ever  consent  to 
your  kiss ;  and  the  mouth  which  has  made  your  fortune, 
and  the  face  which  has  given  you  riches,  are  not  your 
own.  You  were  not  born  with  that  countenance.  It 
was  borrowed  from  the  grimace  which  lurks  in  the 
depths  of  perdition.  You  have  stolen  your  mask  from 
the  devil.  You  are  hideous ;  be  satisfied  with  having 
drawn  that  prize  in  the  lottery  of  life.  There  are  in 
this  world  (and  a  very  good  thing  it  is  too)  the  happy 
by  right,  and  the  happy  by  luck.  You  are  happy  by 
luck.  You  are  in  a  cave  wherein  a  star  is  enclosed. 
The  poor  star  belongs  to  you.     Do  not  seek  to  leave  the 


344  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

cave ;  and  guard  your  star,  0  spider !  You  have  Venus 
in  your  web.  Do  me  the  favour  to  be  satisfied.  I  see 
your  dreams  are  troubled.  It  is  idiotic  of  you.  Listen, 
I  am  going  to  speak  to  you  in  the  language  of  true  poetry. 
Let  Dea  eat  beefsteaks  and  mutton-chops,  and  in  six 
months  she  will  be  as  strong  as  a  Turk ;  marry  her  im- 
mediately, give  her  a  child,  two  children,  three  chil- 
dren, a  long  string  of  children.  That  is  what  I  call 
philosophy.  Moreover,  it  is  happiness,  which  is  no 
folly.  To  have  children  is  a  glimpse  of  heaven.  Have 
brats :  blow  their  noses,  spank  them,  wash  them,  and 
put  them  to  bed.  Let  them  swarm  about  you.  If  they 
laugh,  it  is  well ;  if  they  howl,  it  is  better,  —  crying  is 
healthy.  Watch  them  suck  at  six  months,  crawl  at  a 
year,  walk  at  two,  grow  tall  at  fifteen,  fall  in  love  at 
twenty.  He  who  has  these  joys  has  everything.  For 
myself,  I  lacked  the  privilege,  and  that  is  the  reason 
why  I  am  such  a  brute.  God,  a  composer  of  beautiful 
poems  and  the  first  of  men  of  letters,  said  to  his  fellow- 
workman,  Moses,  '  Increase  and  multiply. '  Such  is  the 
text.  So  multiply,  you  beast !  As  for  the  world,  it  is 
as  it  is ;  you  cannot  make  nor  mar  it.  Do  not  trouble 
yourself  about  it.  Pay  no  attention  to  what  goes  on 
outside.  A  comedian  is  made  to  be  looked  at,  not  to 
look.  Do  you  know  what  there  is  outside  ?  The  happy, 
by  right.  You,  I  repeat,  are  one  of  the  happy  by  chance. 
You  are  the  pickpocket  of  the  happiness  of  which  they 
are  the  rightful  proprietors.  They  are  the  legitimate 
possessors ;  you  are  an  interloper.  You  live  in  concu- 
binage with  luck.  What  do  you  want  that  you  have 
not  already?  Shibboleth  help  me!  This  fellow  is  a 
rascal.  Such  happiness  is  a  swindle.  Those  who  pos- 
sess happiness  by  right  do  not  like  folks  below  them  to 
have  so  much  enjoyment.  If  they  ask  you  what  right 
you  have  to  be  happy,  you  will  not  know  what  to  an- 


THINKING  JUSTICE,  SPEAKING  TRUTH.  345 

ewer.  You  have  no  patent,  and  they  have.  Jupiter, 
Allah,  Vishnou,  Sabaoth,  it  matters  not  who,  has  given 
them  the  passport  to  happiness.  Beware  of  them.  Do 
not  meddle  with  them,  lest  they  should  meddle  with 
you.  Wretch !  do  you  know  what  the  man  is  who  is 
happy  by  right  ?  He  is  a  terrible  being.  He  is  a  lord. 
A  lord !  He  must  have  intrigued  pretty  well  in  the 
devil's  unknown  country  before  he  was  born,  to  enter 
life  by  the  door  he  did.  How  difficult  it  must  have 
been  to  him  to  be  born !  It  is  the  only  trouble  he  has 
given  himself ;  but,  just  Heaven  !  what  a  one  !  —  to 
bribe  destiny,  that  egregious  blockhead,  to  mark  him  in 
his  cradle  a  master  of  men ;  to  bribe  the  box-keeper  to 
give  him  the  best  place  at  the  show.  Read  the  memo- 
randa in  the  old  van  which  I  have  placed  on  the  half- 
pay  list.  Read  that  breviary  of  wisdom,  and  you  will 
see  what  it  is  to  be  a  lord.  A  lord  is  one  who  has  all, 
and  is  all.  A  lord  is  one  who  lives  far  above  his  own 
nature.  A  lord  is  one  who  has  when  young  the  rights 
of  an  old  man ;  when  old,  the  success  in  intrigue  of  a 
young  one ;  if  vicious,  the  homage  of  respectable  people  j 
if  a  coward,  the  command  of  brave  men ;  if  a  do-nothing, 
the  fruits  of  labour;  if  ignorant,  the  diploma  of  Cam- 
bridge or  Oxford ;  if  a  fool,  the  admiration  of  poets ;  if 
ugly,  the  smiles  of  women ;  if  a  Thersites,  the  helm  of 
Achilles ;  if  a  hare,  the  skin  of  a  lion.  Do  not  misun- 
derstand my  words.  I  do  not  say  that  a  lord  must 
necessarily  be  ignorant,  or  a  coward,  or  ugly,  or  stupid, 
or  old.  I  only  mean  that  he  may  be  all  those  things 
without  any  detriment  to  himself.  On  the  contrary. 
Lords  are  princes.  The  King  of  England  is  only  a  lord, 
the  first  peer  of  the  peerage ;  that  is  all,  but  it  is  much. 
Kings  were  formerly  called  lords, —  the  Lord  of  Denmark, 
the  Lord  of  Ireland,  the  Lord  of  the  Isles.  The  Lord  of 
Norway  was  first  called  king  three  hundred  years  ago 


346  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

Lucius,  the  most  ancient  king  in  England,  was  addressed 
by  Saint  Telesphorus  as  my  Lord  Lucius.  The  lords  are 
peers  —  that  is  to  say,  equals  —  of  whom  ?  Of  the  king. 
I  do  not  make  the  mistake  of  confounding  the  lords  with 
parliament.  The  assembly  of  the  people  which  the 
Saxons  before  the  Conquest  called  wittenagemote,  the 
Normans,  after  the  Conquest,  entitled  parlvtmentum. 
By  degrees  the  people  were  turned  out.  The  king's  let- 
ters convoking  the  Commons,  addressed  formerly  ad 
concilium  impendendum,  are  now  addressed  ad  consentien- 
dirni.  They  have  the  privilege  of  saying  "  Yes.  "  But 
the  peers  have  the  right  to  say  "  No ; "  and  the  proof  is 
that  they  have  said  it.  The  peers  can  cut  off  the  king's 
head.  The  people  cannot.  The  stroke  of  the  hatchet 
which  decapitated  Charles  I.  is  an  encroachment,  not  on 
the  king,  but  on  the  peers ;  and  it  was  well  to  place  on  the 
gibbet  the  carcass  of  Cromwell.  The  lords  have  power. 
Why  ?  Because  they  have  the  property.  Glance  over  the 
leaves  of  the  Doomsday-book.  That  is  proof  that  the 
lords  own  England.  It  is  the  registry  of  the  estates  of 
subjects,  compiled  under  William  the  Conqueror ;  and  it 
is  in  the  charge  of  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  To 
copy  anything  in  it,  you  have  to  pay  twopence  a  line. 
It  is  a  fine  book  !  Do  you  know  that  I  was  once  physi- 
cian to  a  lord  who  was  called  Marmaduke,  and  who  had 
thirty-six  thousand  a  year  ?  Think  of  that,  you  hideous 
idiot!  Do  you  know  that,  with  rabbits  from  the  warrens 
of  Earl  Lindsay  only,  they  could  feed  all  the  riff-raff  of 
the  Cinque  Ports  ?  And  the  good  order  kept !  Every 
poacher  is  hung.  For  two  long,  furry  ears  sticking  out 
of  a  game-bag,  I  saw  the  father  of  six  children  hanging 
on  the  gibbet.  Such  is  the  peerage.  The  rabbit  of  a 
great  lord  is  of  more  importance  than  God's  image  in 
a  man.  Lords  exist,  you  see,  you  rascal !  and  we  must 
think  it  well  that  they  do.    Even  if  we  do  not,  what  harm 


THINKING  JUSTICE,   SPEAKING  TRUTH.  347 

will  it  do  them  ?  The  people  object,  indeed !  Why  ? 
Plautus  himself  would  never  have  entertained  such  an 
absurd  idea.  A  philosopher  would  be  thought  jesting 
if  he  advised  a  poor  devil  of  the  masses  to  cry  out  against 
the  size  and  weight  of  the  lords.  As  well  might  the 
gnat  dispute  with  the  foot  of  an  elephant.  One  day  I 
saw  a  hippopotamus  tread  upon  a  mole-hill ;  he  crushed 
it  utterly.  He  was  innocent.  The  great  soft-headed 
fool  of  a  mastodon  was  not  even  aware  of  the  mole's  ex- 
istence. My  son,  the  down-trodden  moles  are  the  human 
race.  To  crush  is  the  universal  law.  And  do  you  think 
that  the  mole  himself  crushes  nothing?  Why,  he  is  the 
mastodon  of  the  flesh-worm,  who  in  turn  is  the  masto- 
don of  the  globe-worm. 

"  But  let  us  cease  arguing.  My  boy,  there  are  coaches 
in  the  world;  my  lord  is  inside,  the  people  under  the 
wheels;  the  philosopher  gets  out  of  the  way.  Stand 
aside,  and  let  them  pass.  As  for  me,  I  love  lords,  and 
yet  shun  them.  I  lived  with  one ;  the  charm  of  the 
recollection  suffices  me.  I  remember  his  country  house ; 
it  would  be  impossible  to  conceive  of  anything  more 
grand  and  beautiful  than  Marmaduke  Lodge  and  its 
surroundings.  The  houses,  country  seats,  and  palaces 
of  the  lords  form  a  collection  of  all  that  is  greatest  and 
most  magnificent  in  this  flourishing  kingdom.  I  love 
our  lords.  I  am  grateful  to  them  for  being  opulent, 
powerful,  and  prosperous.  I  myself  am  clothed  in 
shadow,  so  I  look  with  interest  upon  the  shred  of 
heavenly  blue  which  is  called  a  lord.  You  enter  Mar- 
maduke Lodge  by  an  exceedingly  spacious  courtyard, 
which  forms  an  oblong  square,  divided  into  eight  spaces, 
each  surrounded  by  a  balustrade ;  on  each  side  is  a  wide 
approach,  and  a  superb  hexagonal  fountain  plays  in  the 
midst;  this  fountain  is  formed  of  two  basins,  which  are 
surmounted  by  a  dome  of  exquisite  open-work,  elevated 


348  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

on  six  columns.  It  was  there  that  I  knew  a  learned 
Frenchman,  Monsieur  l'Abbd  du  Cros,  who  belonged  to 
the  Jacobin  monastery  in  the  Eue  Saint  Jacques.  Half 
the  library  of  Erpenius  is  at  Marmaduke  Lodge,  the 
other  half  is  in  the  theological  schools  at  Cambridge. 
I  used  to  read  the  books,  seated  under  the  richly  orna- 
mented portal.  These  things  are  only  shown  to  a  select 
number  of  curious  travellers.  Do  you  know,  you  ridicu- 
lous boy,  that  William  North,  who  is  Lord  Grey  of 
Eolleston,  and  sits  fourteenth  on  the  bench  of  Barons, 
has  more  forest  trees  on  his  mountains  than  you  have 
hairs  on  your  horrible  noddle  ?  Do  you  know  that  Lord 
Norreys  of  Eycote,  who  is  Earl  of  Abingdon,  has  a 
square  keep  a  hundred  feet  high,  having  this  device : 
Virtus  ariete  fortior ;  which  you  would  think  meant 
that  virtue  is  stronger  than  a  ram,  but  which  really 
means,  you  idiot,  that  courage  is  stronger  than  a  batter- 
ing-machine. Yes,  I  honour,  accept,  respect,  and  revere 
our  lords.  It  is  the  lords  who,  with  her  royal  Majesty, 
labour  to  ensure  and  preserve  the  welfare  of  the  nation. 
Their  consummate  wisdom  shines  in  critical  junctures. 
Their  precedence  over  others  I  wish  they  had  not ;  but 
they  have  it.  What  is  called  principality  in  Germany 
and  grandeeship  in  Spain,  is  called  peerage  in  England 
and  France.  There  being  a  fair  show  of  reason  for  con- 
sidering the  world  a  wretched  place,  Heaven  felt  where 
the  burden  was  most  galling,  and  to  prove  that  it  knew 
how  to  make  happy  people,  created  lords  for  the  satis- 
faction of  philosophers.  This  acts  as  a  set-off,  and  gets 
Heaven  out  of  the  scrape,  affording  it  a  decent  escape 
from  a  false  position.  The  great  are  great.  A  peer, 
speaking  of  himself,  says  "  We. "  A  peer  is  a  pluraL 
The  king  calls  the  peer  consanguinei  nostri.  The  peers 
have  made  a  multitude  of  wise  laws ;  among  others,  one 
which   condemns  to  death  any  one  who  cuts  down  a 


THINKING  JUSTICE,  SPEAKING  TRUTH.  349 

three-year-old  poplar  tree.  Their  supremacy  is  such 
that  they  have  a  language  of  their  own.  In  heraldic 
style,  black,  which  is  called  sable  for  gentry,  is  called 
saturne  for  princes,  and  diamond  for  peers.  Diamond 
powder !  a  night  thick  with  stars,  such  is  the  night  of 
the  happy !  Even  among  themselves  these  high  and 
mighty  lords  have  their  distinctions.  A  baron  cannot 
bathe  with  a  viscount  without  his  permission.  These 
are  indeed  excellent  safeguards  for  the  nation.  What  a 
fine  thing  it  is  for  the  people  to  have  twenty-five  dukes, 
five  marquises,  seventy-six  earls,  nine  viscounts,  and 
sixty-one  barons;  making  altogether  a  hundred  and 
seventy-six  peers,  some  of  whom  are  "  your  grace, " 
and  some  "  my  lord.  "  What  matter  a  few  rags  here  and 
there ;  everybody  cannot  be  dressed  in  cloth  of  gold. 
Let  the  rags  be.  Can  you  not  gaze  on  the  purple  ?  One 
counterbalances  the  other.  Of  course,  there  are  the 
poor ;  what  of  them  ?  They  are  made  to  add  to  the  com- 
fort of  the  opulent  Devil  take  it!  our  lords  are  our 
glory !  The  pack  of  hounds  belonging  to  Charles,  Baron 
Mohun,  costs  him  as  much  as  the  hospital  for  lepers  in 
Moorgate,  and  Christ's  Hospital,  founded  for  children, 
in  1553,  by  Edward  VI.  Thomas  Osborne,  Duke  of 
Leeds,  spends  yearly  on  his  liveries  five  thousand  golden 
guineas.  The  Spanish  grandees  have  a  guardian  ap- 
pointed by  law  to  prevent  them  from  ruining  them- 
selves. That  is  cowardly.  Our  lords  are  extravagant 
and  magnificent.  I  honour  them  for  it.  Let  us  not 
abuse  them  like  envious  folks.  I  feel  happy  when  a 
beautiful  vision  passes.  I  do  not  possess  the  light  my- 
self, but  I  have  the  reflection.  A  reflect  on  thrown  on 
my  ulcer,  you  will  say.  Go  to  the  devil !  I  am  a  Job, 
happy  in  the  contemplation  of  Trimalcion.  Oh,  that 
beautiful  and  radiant  planet  up  there  !  But  the  moon- 
light is  something !     To  suppress  the  lords  was  an  idea 


350  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

which  Orestes,  mad  as  he  was,  would  not  have  dared  to 
entertain.  To  say  that  the  lords  are  mischievous  or 
useless,  is  to  say  that  the  State  should  be  revolutionized, 
and  that  men  are  not  made  to  live  like  cattle,  browsing 
the  grass  and  bitten  by  the  dog.  The  held  is  shorn  by 
the  sheep,  the  sheep  by  the  shepherd.  It  is  all  one  to 
me.  I  am  a  philosopher,  and  I  attach  just  about  as  much 
importance  to  life  as  a  fly.  Life  is  only  a  lodging-house 
When  I  think  that  Henry  Bowes  Howard,  Earl  of  Berk- 
shire, has  in  his  stable  twenty-four  state  carriages,  of 
which  one  is  mounted  in  silver,  and  another  in  gold,  — ■ 
good  heavens !  I  know  that  every  one  does  not  possess 
twenty-four  state  carriages ;  but  there  is  no  need  to  com- 
plain for  all  that.  Because  you  were  cold  one  night,  what 
was  that  to  him  ?  It  concerns  you  only.  Others  besides 
you  suffer  from  cold  and  hunger.  Don't  you  know  that 
but  for  the  cold  Dea  would  not  have  been  blind ;  and  if 
Dea  were  not  blind,  she  would  not  love  you  ?  Think  of 
that,  you  fool !  Besides,  if  all  the  people  who  are  un- 
happy were  to  complain,  there  would  be  a  pretty  tumult ! 
Silence  is  the  rule.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Heaven  im- 
poses silence  on  the  damned,  otherwise  Heaven  itself 
would  be  spoiled  by  their  everlasting  wailing.  The  hap- 
piness of  Olympus  is  ensured  by  the  silence  of  Cocytus. 
Then,  good  people,  be  silent!  I  do  better  myself;  I 
approve  and  admire. 

"  Just  now  I  was  enumerating  the  lords,  and  I  ought  to 
add  to  the  list  two  archbishops  and  twenty-four  bishops. 
Truly,  I  am  quite  affected  when  I  think  of  it !  I  re- 
member to  have  seen  at  the  tithe-gathering  of  the 
Rev.  Dean  of  Eaphoe,  who  combined  the  peerage  with 
the  church,  a  great  tithe  of  beautiful  wheat  taken  from 
the  peasants  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  which  the  dean 
had  not  been  at  the  trouble  of  growing.  This  left 
him  time  to  say  his  prayers.     Do  you  know  that  Lord 


THINKING  JUSTICE,  SPEAKING  TRUTH.  351 

Marmaduke,  my  master,  was  Lord  Grand  Treasurer  of 
Ireland,  and  High  Seneschal  of  the  sovereignty  of 
Knaresborough  in  the  county  of  York  ?  Do  you  know 
that  the  Lord  High  Chamberlain,  which  is  an  hereditary 
office  in  the  family  of  the  Dukes  of  Lancaster,  dresses 
the  king  for  his  coronation,  and  receives  for  his  trouble 
forty  yards  of  crimson  velvet,  besides  the  bed  on  which 
the  king  has  slept ;  and  that  the  Usher  of  the  Black  Rod 
is  his  deputy  ?  I  should  like  to  see  you  deny  this,  that 
the  senior  viscount  of  England  is  Robert  Brent,  created 
a  viscount  by  Henry  V.  The  lords'  titles  imply  sover- 
eignty over  land,  except  that  of  Earl  Rivers,  who  takes 
his  title  from  his  family  name.  How  admirable  is  the 
right  which  they  have  to  tax  others,  and  to  levy,  for 
instance,  four  shillings  on  the  pound  sterling  income- 
tax,  which  has  just  been  continued  for  another  year. 
And  all  the  fine  taxes  on  distilled  spirits,  on  the  excise 
of  wine  and  beer,  on  tonnage  and  poundage,  on  cider, 
on  mum,  malt,  and  prepared  barley,  on  coals,  and  on  a 
hundred  things  besides.  Let  us  respect  the  powers  that 
be.  The  clergy  themselves  are  dependent  on  the  lords. 
The  Bishop  of  Man  is  subject  to  the  Earl  of  Derby. 
The  lords  have  wild  beasts  of  their  own,  which  they 
place  in  their  armorial  bearings.  God  not  having  made 
animals  enough,  they  have  invented  others.  They  have 
created  the  heraldic  wild  boar,  who  is  as  much  above 
the  wild  boar  as  a  wild  boar  is  above  the  common 
pig,  and  a  lord  is  above  a  priest.  They  have  created 
the  griffin,  which  is  an  eagle  to  lions,  and  a  lion  to 
eagles,  terrifying  lions  by  his  wings,  and  eagles  by  his 
mane.  They  have  the  guivre,  the  unicorn,  the  ser- 
pent, the  salamander,  the  tarask,  the  dree,  the  dragon, 
and  the  hippogriff.  All  these  things,  terrible  to  us.  are 
to  them  but  an  ornament  and  an  embellishment.  They 
have  a  menagerie  which  they  call  the  blazon,  in  which 


352  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

these  unknown  beasts  roar.  The  prodigies  of  the  forest 
are  nothing  compared  to  the  inventions  of  their  pride. 
Their  vanity  is  full  of  phantoms  which  move  as  in  a 
sublime  night,  armed  with  helm  and  cuirass,  spurs  on 
their  heels  and  sceptres  in  their  hands,  saying  in  a  grave 
voice,  '  We  are  the  ancestors ! '  Canker-worms  eat  the 
roots,  and  panoplies  eat  the  people.  Why  not?  Can 
we  expect  to  change  the  laws  ?  The  peerage  is  part  of 
the  order  of  society.  Do  you  know  that  there  is  a  duke 
in  Scotland  who  can  ride  ninety  miles  without  leaving 
his  own  estate  ?  Do  you  know  that  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  has  a  revenue  of  .£40,000  a  year?  Do  you 
know  that  her  Majesty  has  X 700, 000  sterling  from  the 
civil  list,  besides  castles,  forests,  domains,  fiefs,  tenan- 
cies, freeholds,  prebendaries,  tithes,  rent,  confiscations, 
and  fines,  which  bring  in  over  a  million  sterling  ?  Those 
who  are  not  satisfied  are  hard  to  please.  " 

"  Yes, "  murmured  Gwynplaine,  sadly ;  "  the  paradise 
of  the  rich  is  made  out  of  the  hell  of  the  poor. " 


CHAPTER  XIL 

UBSUS   THE   POET  DRAGS   ON  URSUS   THE   PHILOSOPHER. 

JUST  then  Dea  entered.  Gwynplaine  looked  at  her, 
and  saw  her  only.  Such  is  love ;  one  may  be  car- 
ried away  for  a  moment  by  the  importunity  of  some 
other  idea,  but  the  beloved  one  enters,  and  everything 
that  does  not  pertain  to  her  immediately  fades  away, 
without  her  dreaming  perhaps  that  she  is  effacing  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  from  one's  mind.  Let  us  men- 
tion a  circumstance.  In  "  Chaos  Vanquished  "  the 
word  monstro,  addressed  to  Gwynplaine,  displeased  Dea. 
Sometimes,  with  the  smattering  of  Spanish,  which  every 
one  possessed  at  the  period,  she  took  it  into  her  head  to 
replace  it  by  quiero,  which  signifies,  "  I  wish  it.  "  Ursus 
tolerated,  although  not  without  considerable  impatience, 
this  alteration  in  his  text  He  might  have  said  to  Dea, 
as  in  our  own  day  Moessard  said  to  Vissot,  "  Tu  manques 
de  respect  au  repertoire.  "  "  The  Laughing  Man.  "  This 
was  the  form  Gwynplaine 's  celebrity  had  assumed.  His 
name,  Gwynplaine,  but  little  known  at  any  time,  was 
hidden  under  this  nickname,  as  his  face  was  hidden 
under  its  ghastly  grin.  His  popularity  was  like  his 
visage,  —  a  mask.  His  name,  however,  appeared  on  a 
large  placard  in  front  of  the  Green  Box,  which  bore  the 
following  notice  composed  by  Ursus  :  — 

"Do  not  fail  to  see  Gwynplaine,  who  was  deserted  at  the 
age  of  ten,  on  the  night  of  the  29th  of  January,  1690,  by 
villainous  Comprachicos,  on  the  coast  of  Portland.  The  little 
boy  has  grown  up,  and  is  now  known  as 

*  THE  LAUGHING  MAN.  * 
vol.  xrx.  —  23 


354  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

The  existence  of  these  mountebanks  resembled  the  life 
of  lepers  in  a  leper-house  as  well  as  of  the  blessed  in 
one  of  the  Pleiades.  Every  day  there  was  a  sudden 
transition  from  the  noisy  exhibition  outside  to  the  most 
complete  seclusion.  Every  evening  they  made  their 
exit  from  the  world.  They  were  like  the  dead,  van- 
ishing on  condition  of  being  re-born  next  day.  A 
comedian  is  a  sort  of  revolving  light,  appearing  one 
moment,  disappearing  the  next,  and  existing  for  the 
public  only  as  a  phantom,  as  his  life  circles  round.  To 
exhibition  succeeded  isolation.  As  soon  as  the  per- 
formance was  finished,  and  even  while  the  spectators 
were  dispersing,  and  their  murmur  of  satisfaction  was 
still  heard  in  the  streets,  the  Green  Box  drew  in  its 
platform,  as  a  fortress  does  its  drawbridge,  and  all  com- 
munication with  mankind  was  cut  off.  On  one  side, 
the  universe ;  on  the  other,  the  van ;  but  the  van  con- 
tained liberty,  clear  consciences,  courage,  devotion,  inno- 
cence, happiness,  love, —  all  the  heavenly  constellations. 
Clear-sighted  blindness  and  fondly  beloved  deformity 
sat  side  by  side, — hand  pressing  hand,  brow  touching 
brow, —  and  whispered  to  each  other,  intoxicated  with 
love. 

The  compartment  in  the  middle  of  the  van  served  two 
purposes,  —  for  the  public  it  was  a  stage ;  for  the  actors, 
a  dining-room.  Ursus,  ever  delighting  in  comparisons, 
profited  by  this  diversity  of  uses  to  liken  the  central 
compartment  in  the  Green  Box  to  the  arradach  in  an 
Abyssinian  hut.  Ursus  counted  the  receipts,  then  they 
supped. 

Love  idealizes  everything.  When  persons  are  in  love, 
eating  and  drinking  together  afford  opportunities  for 
many  sweet  promiscuous  touches,  by  which  a  mouthful 
becomes  a  kiss.  The  two  drank  ale  or  wine  from  the 
same  glass,  as  they  might  drink  dew  out  of  the  same 


THE  POET  DRAGS  ON  THE  PHILOSOPHER.        355 

lily.  Two  souls  in  love  are  as  full  of  grace  as  two  birds. 
Gwynplaine  waited  on  Dea,  cut  her  bread,  poured  out 
her  drink,  approaching  as  close  to  her  as  possible. 

"  Hum ! "  cried  Ursus,  and  turned  away,  his  scolding 
melting  into  a  smile. 

The  wolf  supped  under  the  table,  heedless  of  every- 
thing which  did  not  actually  affect  his  bone.  Fibi  and 
Vinos  shared  the  repast,  but  gave  no  trouble.  These 
vagabonds,  who  were  only  half  civilized,  and  as  uncouth 
as  ever,  conversed  with  each  other  in  the  Gipsy  tongue. 
At  length  Dea  re-entered  the  women's  apartment  with 
Fibi  and  Vinos.  Ursus  chained  Homo  under  the  Green 
Box;  Gwynplaine  looked  after  the  horses,  —  the  lover 
becoming  a  groom,  like  one  of  Homer's  heroes  or  Charle- 
magne's paladins.  By  midnight  all  were  sound  asleep, 
except  the  wolf,  who,  alive  to  his  responsibility,  now 
and  then  opened  an  eye.  The  next  morning  they  met 
again,  and  breakfasted  together,  generally  on  ham  and 
tea.  Tea  was  introduced  into  England  in  1668.  In 
the  middle  of  the  day  Dea,  after  the  Spanish  fashion, 
took  a  siesta,  acting  on  the  advice  of  Ursus,  who  consid- 
ered her  delicate,  and  slept  several  hours,  while  Gwyn- 
plaine and  Ursus  did  all  the  little  jobs  of  work,  in 
doors  and  out,  which  their  wandering  life  necessitated. 

Gwynplaine  rarely  wandered  far  from  the  Green  Box, 
except  on  unfrequented  roads  and  in  solitary  places.  In 
cities  he  went  out  only  at  night,  disguised  in  a  large 
slouched  hat,  so  as  not  to  show  his  face  in  the  street. 
His  face  was  seen  uncovered  only  on  the  stage. 

The  Green  Box  had  frequented  cities  but  little. 
Gwynplaine  at  twenty-four  had  never  seen  any  town 
larger  than  the  Cinque  Ports.  His  fame,  however,  was 
increasing.  It  had  begun  to  rise  above  the  populace, 
and  to  percolate  into  higher  ground.  Among  the  many 
who  were  fond  of,  and  ran  after,  foreign  curiosities  and 


356  THE  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS. 

prodigies,  it  was  known  that  there  was  somewhere  in 
existence,  leading  a  wandering  life,  now  here,  now 
there,  an  extraordinary  monster.  They  talked  about 
him,  they  sought  him,  they  wondered  where  he  was. 
The  laughing  man  was  becoming  decidedly  famous.  A 
certain  lustre,  too,  was  reflected  from  him  upon  "  Chaos 
Vanquished. "  So  much  so  that  one  day  Ursus,  being 
ambitious,  exclaimed,  — 
■  We  must  go  to  London. " 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


IIC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  892  405    2 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 

MAR  2  2  1979 

'*A  A  1  4  1979 

a  39 

UCSD  Libi. 

